The Heart Gathers the Scattered Pieces reference
by Captain MeraSparrow
Summary: x "Jack Sparra been scattered 'cross de worlds. It is up to you to bring him back." This story is being scrapped. It will be revamped and re-uploaded sometime in a general not now direction.
1. Arrival

o.o Avast! The sequel to Hoofin' It With Pirates has arrived! Well, the first chapter, anyways xd... Anywho, here you go, hope you enjoy, and if you haven't read the first one, then don't read this, savvy? Please keep in mind that, while there is quite a bit about church in the first few chapters here, it is not meant to be offensive and really doesn't focus on the religion, but rather the art of learning what service to others really means.

**Disclaimer:** Avast! Pineapple ho! ...Yeah, if I owned PotC, it'd be WAAAYY more than a pineapple, savvy? o-e

**Finding the Warmth of Light**

**Chapter One: A Visiting Mate and Reacting Others**

It was a chilly winter day in Center City, Philadelphia. Today had been labeled a 'code blue', and everyone was inside keeping warm. ...Or...in their cars. ...The streets were irritatingly congested. Even more now than usual. Amy Xyphir sighed, looking out the window, her breath fogging the glass. The other four girls were chattering excitedly, completely un-bored by the long drive from home to here, made longer by the traffic backup. They were on a mission trip with their church, Aton Presbyterian, doing service to their own city for a change. It was true, she wasn't exactly looking forward to the trip. All her friends in church had been unable to come, and thus would she be stuck with perky and preppy and other people she didn't know too well. She hated perky. She also disliked being with people---at least those she didn't know too well, or wasn't friends with. She blamed her introvertedness. The only person she was even relatively comfortable around was the Youth Pastor who was accompanying them. However, he was in one of the other two vans. But that was all right, she reasoned. She was content with her own silence and the promise of a weekend filled with new experiences and opportunities. However, without her parents or her friends there with her for a whole weekend, she would be a wee bit timid about her work.

_Oh well,_ thought she, watching a small group of people hastening down the sidewalk, hurrying to their (hopefully) warmer destinations. She sighed again, this time in relief, glad for the heating in the van. _Yay, we're moving again! I can't wait to see where we'll be staying this weekend,_ she thought as the traffic began to pick up. But it seemed her thinking had jinxed things, for as they were going over a bridge, that said traffic decided to come to a standstill.

"They say it's like this every morning," said Mrs. Kel, the driver, and the three girls in the back seat groaned. "But we won't have to come this way, I don't think." Everyone sighed in relief. Battling this kind of jam was the last thing any of them wanted.

Amy had to blink a few times behind her new glasses before she realized it had begun to snow. Tiny white crystals flurried lazily about, landing on windows and cars, melting immediately. Minutes passed faster than the cars did, and the flurries eventually grew into clumps. A rather large one landed on her windows, obscuring the gray view of the bridge's sidewalk, the bridge which they were _still_ stuck on. She watched in mild fascination as the white fuzz became clear and liquid. Through it, she could see a blurry, blue blotch on the walkway. The water dripped leisurely down the pane, revealing the figure: A man in a powdered wig and standard 1700's read Admiral naval uniform, hat in hand. He whipped his head around, looking this way and that, looking confused, as if with absolutely no idea where he was, or where he was going, or perhaps even _whether_ he was going anywhere at all. A car sped past, filling a hole made by someone turning off, and he recoiled, watching it as if he'd never before seen a sedan. To the average Philadelphian passerby (or driverby, in this case), what with their common lack of knowledge of actual wear from certain times and locations, he was just one of the people who dressed up old-fashioned like and gave tours of historical sites and landmarks and such in the city. Another passing car beeped its horn at him before turning off, thinking him some new attraction to Philly. He nearly jumped out of his skin. Well, he really only seemed to startle slightly, but Ames had a way of seeing these things. ...Just like when they had first met...

Her eyes widened with recognition, and without a second thought, she flung open the door and stepped out into the unmoving mass of automobiles and cold. "Ellie!" she called to the figure, hands cupped around her mouth, breath forming a cloud in the air before her, glasses steaming up. The man looked to her, and she beckoned him closer.

"Amy?" he asked as he wove through the still-standing cars to her.

"James!" He rushed to her and they embraced. "What are you doing here, where—," she stopped. "Never mind. I'm sure we both have questions to bombard one another with, and we can take care of that once we get you off the streets." She led him to the door of the van. "Come on, get in."

He peered cautiously inside. "What is it?"

"It's a carriage. Go on, go on," and she gently shoved him inside the teal/grey automobile, climbing in after. She directed him to sit right in between the seats that made up the middle row, and again took her seat, buckling her seatbelt."

"Amy, you can't just bring a stranger off the streets—," Mrs. Kel began.

But Amy interrupted. "—I think you'll find that I can. Look, I'll explain everything later, with _all_ the chaperones so as I won't have to repeat myself, savvy?" Mrs. Kel agreed grudgingly. As if on cue, the traffic light changed, and they were soon leaving behind that accursed traffic backup.

"Where are we?" murmured James.

Ames grinned that crazed grin of hers and said in an uber cheap French accent, "Welcome to de esteemed citee of Philadelphia, my friend."

He blinked. "Truly nothing like the Port I once knew, then."

"Save for, maybe, the Delaware," she added. He nodded agreement.

Finally removing his wig, he set it before him, atop his elaborate hat, and ran a hand through his short, tousled, light brown hair. "So this is your kind of carriage, then?"

"Yep."

"Curious. No steeds. Then how does it move?"

"Believe me when I say it's too complicated and am not fully sure of any of it."

"Eh?"

"Summat about gasoline, oil, turbines, motors, cylinders, suspension systems, batteries, brakes, electricity and suchwhat energy, and—man, it'd take all day to explain it, and I don't really even know what I'm explaining. Let's leave that to the experts, huh?"

He gaped back at her, frozen in place, brows raised, moments later snapping out of it and bobbing his head. "Yes."

"So, uh...stupid question, I know, but...what'cha doing here?"

"I was in trouble and asked to come here."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Trouble? You? Jaaaammmes...?"

He smiled somewhat shamefully up at her. "I betrayed the Navy, pet."

She watched him with an incredulous, shocked, surprised expression. "No way!"

"It's true, love."

"...Whad'ja do?"

He smiled again, this time less shameful. "I let my brother go free."

She beamed in pride at him and reached out with one hand to squeeze his shoulder, as her seatbelt wouldn't allow her to glomp him as a proud aunt should. "That's m'boy. Remind me to give you a cookie."

He glanced up at her, a puzzled expression on his face. "Cookie?"

She smiled mischievously. "You'll see."

"Uh oh."

"You'll love it, I promise."

"Of course I will," was his somewhat resigned reply. "So this is Philadelphia, eh?"

"Meerw! ...Wait, sorry, that's catfrog for yes."

He shook his head almost sympathetically, visibly holding back laughter. "I thought you said you lived in the 'suburbs.'"

"I do. I'm here to do mission work with my church. Service. You know."

"Service?"

"Perhaps you don't know," she amended. "Rebuilding and/or cleaning up old churches, feeding the hungry, bringing warm wintry garments to the homeless, and so on and such forth."

"Homeless?" James lowered his eyes, looking somewhat unnerved. "You know, I never asked...what social class you are in."

Her jaw dropped, and her soft brown gaze shifted into a sharp, black glare. "Does it matter? If I were a lower class, would you see me as scum of the Earth, unacceptable to socialize with?" Her voice was soft and calm, almost as if trying to hold back sadness, rather than anger.

"No...no. My apologies." He looked away ashamedly. "It's just...in our world, it's usually only certain classes that would burden themselves with that, who would lower themselves to such a point."

"LOWER!" He flinched visibly. "I'm sorry. But why must it be dirt under a brick to help those in need?"

"It's their own fault that they need such that they do," he muttered crossly but softly. "They should get _themselves_ out of such a situation."

"God's bread, James!" The van went silent a moment as she quieted. "You know, maybe it's a really good thing you showed up here and now. Perhaps we can turn you around."

He looked up to see her studying him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, fingers stroking an 'imaginary beard,' all former signs of hostility nonexistent. "What?" he startled.

"Nothing, nothing, nothing at all," she replied, voice betraying a hidden laughter as she continued to study him.

He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Y-yes. Right, sure. Of course. ..."

"Oy?" Ames suggested.

"That's the word."

"See? More proof."

"Not that I doubt it."

"Heh."

"We're here," said Mrs. Kel as they turned down a narrow road, ended up going the complete wrong way, drove around the block since it was all one-way, and parking before a decrepit-looking building.

"Great, now we can get this all sorted out," sighed Amy with a dreading relief.

"We have to wait for the others to get here."

"Are we the first ones here?" asked one of the aforementioned girls in the backseat.

"Yup," was Mrs. Kel's response. "Oh, there comes Justin." She pointed out another van parking some distance up the street.

The first van emptied as everyone stepped out into the cold to wait for the final two vans. James pulled his coat more snugly around him. "Gracious. Is it always this cold here?"

"Only on a code blue at the peak of winter. What, doesn't it get cold down in the Caribbean?"

"I thought it did. But now that I experience it, our winter must be like spring to you. By the by, what is a code blue?"

"I knew you were going to ask. It's where it's so cold that the police and all them official poeple get everyone off the streets because it's a health hazard to be out. Is why the streets're so congested." She sniffled. "...Like my nose." The wind picked up and James shivered. "Okay, share body heat time, come on." And she huddled closer. However, even as she was beginning to get him warm, his lips and hands were starting on blue. "Ohp. That's why it's called a code _blue, _ huh." He nodded, trying not to shiver.

The other vans pulled up. Out stepped the rest of the high schoolers...And the rest of the chaperones. James immediately stopped shivering and straightened, composing himself for confrontation, reverting to 'unyielding-Commodore' mode. "Hey everyone," called a fairly young man, perhaps in his early thirties, with short, dark hair and ice blue eyes.

"That's out pastor, Scott," Ames murmured to her nephew. They watched as Mrs. Kel gathered with the chaperones and Scott, and spoke to them in a huddle in somewhat hushed tones. The young minister glanced at James, listening intently, thoughtful frown on his face. "Oh-oh, here it goes..."

True enough, Scott approached moments later, appearing as amiable and eager to make a new friend as ever. "Hello there," chirruped he in his friendly tenor, smiling affably to show no hostility. "So, it looks like you came to join us. Scott Mako." He extended his hand, which the Navy man shook.

"Former Commodore James Norrington."

"Now why does that sound familiar?" The young pastor scrunched up his face, racking his memory.

"You'll find out once I explain," cut the girl into his train of thought. "But I'll need to talk to everyone, as in chaperones, in private, kay?"

The reverend bobbed his head. "Cool. Let's get everyone settled first, and then we can talk."

"Sounds like a plan."

So everyone was gathered and led inside to a lounge that looked (and was) comfortable and cozy, rather than cold and decrepit and falling apart as the exterior gave pretense to. There, they met two representatives of the Foundation they were working with, then shown to the two bunk rooms up a couple of steep flights of stairs; one for the girls, one for the boys, the 'no purple' rule applying as always. Girls were off the landing at the peak of the first flight, the boys atop the second. They received an introduction and orientation, then left to unpack and claim their mattresses.

Ames made certain to finish quickly, and was back down in the lounge where James was, to wait for the chaperones. She happened upon him studying the mural on the wall of the Philadelphia skyline, hat on head, wig in hand. "It' rather bewildering. ...So many things I don't understand, after coming from a life where everything I saw I understood; now I find there is so much more that I will never know---that even with all my knowledge, I know truly nothing."

"Such intrigue be the world," the girl mused wisely.

"Aye."

He was about to continue, but she cut him off before he had the chance to begin. "Lemme guess; you want to know what they are," she gestured to the silhouetted skyscrapers.

He smiled at her powerful intuition. "Yes."

She grinned. "Two in a row, I'm on fire!—Only an expression!" she added quickly at hit alarmed expression. "These, dear boy, are buildings. Offices, stock markets, trade, shopping centres...landmarks..."

His eyes widened. "And yet they stand steady? Remarkable. It's as though they touch the skies..."

"Hence the term 'sky scrapers.'"

"Ah."

"Yep."

"All right, so what's going on?" asked a voice. The two turned around to see Scott, along with the other assembled adults, at the top of the stair leading from the main level landing down to the lounge. They descended and sat in the couches and armchairs, waiting for her to explain.

Thus she took a long, deep breath to calm her nerves—public speaking wasn't one of her strong points—and began.

------

All right, all right, I'll admit it...I came out with this a day **before** the one year anniversary for Hoofin' It, but, well, I was just so excited I couldn't bear to make you all wait another moment! So please: was it worth the wait? Does it seem interesting in any way shape or form? Should I continue? Should I completely redo my idea? Anybody got any ideas with which I may expand the storyline with? And comments at all! That's what the reviewing system is for, people. Please make use of it.

In other words...REVIEW! Spleeeeeee


	2. AlmostTragedy rewrite

Hey all, sorry about the wait. Wait, why am I sorry? That wasn't much of a wait, if you ask me. I should make you beg more for the next chapter. -evil cackle- Anywho, my sincerest apologies for the content of this chapter. It was a dream I had once, one I find shame in, yet my subconscious did not cease plaguing me with such images until I wrote it. That aside, I have nothing else to write. As I said, I have no plot so far. As you can see, this is why I would have forsaken this story and gotten rid of it. Vague ideas concerning Hannah and Jack and some amulet are all I've got, but methinks it'll do. Please don't abandon me just yet.

That aside, thanks for all the reviews! Twelve! That's the most I've EVER gotten for a first chapter! Spleeness!

**ThunderBenderPrincess: **First review, good job! Here be teh update! ...And a cookie for ye!

**Molly:** No more about Scott. I had forsaken our friendship last time that came up. ANYWHO after thanksgiving is when I'll be back. -insert Arnold Schwartzineger (sp?) voice-

**Meitentei Kudo KID:** Aye. Chaos. Even more in this chapter, but not the good kind. -sob-

**Crystal:** Such warm praise...yet your opinions may change after this chapter, mate.

**Destinysway114: **I sent you your last chapters. It was SAD yo! Ah snow...you know that mission trip we took to Philly you never went on?...This is it. Lol

**Jess is a pirate: **NO NAVY BLUE FOR YOU! ...nor fuschiaLol. What do you mean short! That was seven pages! ARG. WOOT HE'S A PIRATE TECHNO! RAVE

**TheDreamChild:** I'm sure he will. Heheheh...he's not going to have much choice. -evil grin-

**Stormwake: **Counting down the days, eh? Hope this chapter doesn't spoil it all for you...XC

**Authoressinghiding:** Oh! Thanks for the reminder! I'll go read as soon as I post this! o.o

**pirateobsessed:** Yes. Sequel. Curse my subconscious.

**Eternal Silver Flame: **No purple means no blue with the red and no red with the blue. Basically it just means no girls in the boys' room andvice versa

**marauder4ever:** Hope you still feel the same after this chapter.

**Disclaimer: If I owned it, I would have been sued by Norry fangirls (**Yes, they DO exist**) for writing this chapter.**

**EDIT! (6/25/07): After several months with a heavy conscience for posting the original content of this chapter (which was entirely inappropriate, and for that I apologize profusely), I have finally been able to rewrite it. I am very pleased with the outcome, and I hope everyone else will be, too.**

**Finding the Warmth of Light**

**Chapter Two: Explanations, a Vision, and an Almost-Tragedy**

"You've all seen or heard of_ Pirates of the Caribbean_, right?"

"It's a movie," Scott added to the parent or two who, by some manner of deprivation, had not.

"Well, those of you who have may recall the Commodore Norrington what, for all intents and purposes, was an enemy of the main character, Captain Jack Sparrow? The one who wanted to hang him and marry Elizabeth?" She received a few comprehending nods and continued hesitantly, gesturing at James. "This...this is that Commodore, after much self improvement."

"What, you mean the actor?"

"Jack Davenport, I think," Scott put in.

Amy facepalmed. "No! Not the actor. The real deal. The character in all manner of reality." The chaperones looked at her with disbelief clear on their faces. She took a deep breath to slow her hammering heart, eyes squeezing shut for that instant. James placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she found herself calmed. "When I went missing. Those months ago... I went to another world; one that parallels our own, and that happened to be the world in which _Pirates of the Caribbean _took place."

"You ran away from home—you told the police that yourself."

"It were pretense," James put in, impatience and anger welling. They merely gave him an odd look, and he glared at them. "So this is what your world has come to, is it? To the point at which the word of an innocent mind cannot be taken for truth."

"James...think about it. You read a fictional book over and over again. Then, out of nowhere, someone comes to you and says they're a character from that book. Just how easily would you have been able to believe that before I came into the picture?"

He rubbed at his eyes. "You're right," he sighed. "Then how do we prove to them that we're telling the truth?"

"I don't know," came the soft, uncertain reply.

The room went silent for several long moments which seemed to stretch into infinity. Then, suddenly, there was a good deal of rattling in the walls and ceiling, and a groan from some mechanism in the building. James started, looking around alarmed and wide-eyed. "What? What's happening?"

"The heat is coming on."

"...Coming on?"

"More mumbo-jumbo I can't explain."

"But...what is it?"

"Some system takes in air and heats it, then pushes it through pipes and vents throughout the building, thus heating it." The former-commodore's hazel eyes darted around apprehensively, as if half-expecting the thing to roar. "Just think of it as a magic fireplace."

"That I can do."

The chaperones, having witnessed this little episode, were now watching them with somewhat thoughtful expressions. "All right, we'll buy it."

James looked ar Ames, mouth opening to speak. "Expression," the girl replied before he could get a word out.

"Oh." He blinked.

"So he can stay?" she askrd Scott hopefully. "We can always use another helping hand, can't we?"

Scott shrugged. "Sure, why not."

"He may need to borrow warmer or more appropriate clothes, if that's all right."

"Later," said James. "I get the feeling we're holding up some event or other, and we don't want that." He elbowed Amy as she opened her mouth to protest. "Do we?"

She hung her head in mock defeat, before perking up. "Nope."

"All right," Scott bobbed his head. "Hey, Justin, Michelle, you two wanna go round everybody up and get them down here so we can go?" The couple nodded and left. It wasn't long before they heard the creaks of floorboards above them, and the stomps of those descending the steep stairs.

"Where are we going?" James leaned down to her.

"No idea."

The rest of the high schoolers filed into the lounge and took up seats on the couches and chairs and odd bean bag. "All right, everyone! We're going to take a little trip around the city and learn what kinds of problems people have to deal with. Same vans as before." He turned to instruct the other adults and sighted James, still with his hand upon his aunt's shoulder, and turned back to the kids again. "Oh, almost forgot. Everyone, this is James." He gestured to the man behind him. "He's a friend of Amy's, and he's going to be helping us out this weekend." James smiled friendly and gave a curt wave of the hand in response to the caucophonous greeting that often accompanied such a horde of teenagers. "All right, let's get going!"

And so, everyone upped and went outside, filing back into their respective vans. "All right," Ames murmured to James. "Let's do this." He nodded, easing down to his knees on the floor beside her. The vans sped off, splitting into two groups of two to go off and view the city.

Evening had already come, and the two vans in Amy's group stopped as they were coming to the top of a hill, sun setting behind the dense, gray clouds. It was here that the representative described to them the living conditions and numbers of people unemployed or homeless. "I wanted to show you guys the Philadelphia skyline, but as you can see, it's too foggy," explained the representative, Kris. True enough, all that was visible of that marvelous skyline was a dark, looming shadow, revealing only that something was there, and nothing more. Ames looked around and noticed something sparkle as it passed her. Her gaze sought it out and followed it to the grass. A snowflake. It had begun to snow again. The tiny crystals swirled all around them, cold though beautiful. Her gaze swept to James some distance away and saw him gazing in almost wonder at the minute white particles. She walked over and stood at his side, hands dug deep into her pockets, as she'd forgotten gloves. Again.

"It's been so long," he murmured after a few moments. "I only lived in London until I was seven. ...We sailed around the ports for a few years while I was still a cabin boy , but the Caribbean held so much more promise. I haven't really seen it snow since." They huddled together, gazes directed skyward, just watching the snowflakes spiral and shimmer to the frozen ground.

There was a call and they turned back to the van and followed the other passengers inside. The van sped slowly into the cold of night.

The final stop, after several others...nearly such a frightful tale in itself! Yet alas, all parts of a story must be told for the sake of the plot. The final stop was beneath an old bridge in the more rundown part of the city. Unlike the beautiful and clean Center City they'd seen at an earlier stop, all that could be seen in the murky light of the streetlamps were the rusty old bridge, and the puddles and litter and sparse foliage. Such a place made the girl shiver with something other than cold. A sudden feeling surrounded her heart, as if something were clutching it, squeezing it. She tightened all the muscles in her upper body, hoping to be rid of such a disconcerting sensation. But this feeling, this pang, was so strong, there was nothing could be done to chase it off. Something bad was going to happen. Such a pang about the heart always held a premonition of some sort. And judging from the intensity, such an event would be very bad, and very soon. She shook her head, trying to focus on what was being said, but instead, a blinding white light hit her, and she ceased to be aware of the world around her. Instead, she saw James, chained to a post, outermost clothing in a pile some distance away. His face was contorted in pain, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of apprehension and curiosity. A flourish of orange and green material floated in front of her gaze, and she saw a woman stalking toward him, a maleficent glint in her eyes. The man's expression changed to shame and fear, eyes withholding a silent plea. Ames gasped at the events unfolding and looked away. Suddenly, she found herself back under the bridge. She looked hastily around for Norrington and spotted him near the van, some distance away, looking out over the expanse of the city, eyes lit with a silent wonder.

Ames sighed. What had just happened? Perhaps it ad something to do with Hannah. He would know. But if she explained such an occurrence as this to him, would he not be angry with her for thinking such an evil thing? For she had convinced herself it had merely been some passing train of thought related to the foreboding sense she was feeling. She shook her head again, frustratedly trying to clear it. Whatever. She could always talk to him later, in private.

"So what do you think is the average life span of a homeless person?" asked Kris. "Go on, try and guess."

"Forty."

"Twenty."

"Twenty-six."

"Nine," came the answer. There was a shocked silence.

"Because of all the infants," Amy mumbled to herself. She found she was again glancing at James. Had he been a cat, she could've sworn she saw an ear pricked at the conversation, although his gaze continued to scan the streets lit dimly in the weakening sunlight. She turned her attention back to the information that was being explained. This stuff was actually interesting! Several minutes passed before she heard a muffled cry. She turned slowly, dread shooting up her spine.

He stood, arms tightly and painfully restrained by two thugs, gritting his teeth angrily as he struggled for freedom. The smaller of the two began to roughly remove his blue naval coat. He ripped off the sword and holster, tore the pistol from its place at James' ribs, examining the latter scrutinously before throwing it carelessly down to the small pile growing at his feet. He patted the man down before proceeding to roughly rid him of his tunic and several small, hidden knives that had been underneath. Shoes, hat, and wig were thrown off as well, discovering extra shot in the latter two and very tiny knives in the first. They forced him to a street light pole, and a metallic clink echoed deafeningly as they handcuffed his hands behind him and around it. They couldn't leave him like that—he would freeze! "James!" Amy cried out, stumbling toward him. One of the thugs pulled out a handgun and pointed it at her.

"Nobody come closer, got it?" She looked from the burly African American to her nephew and back several times, gaze finally coming to rest on Norrington. He shook his head quickly, and she nodded acknowledgment, returning to the group. The second thug also pulled out a handgun, pointing it at James as he stooped and looted a small pouch of coins from the sapphire coat's pocket. "No cell phones," began the first, "no yelling, no sudden movements, no runnin' away from the group; or we'll shoot." He paced along the front edge of the group as he spoke, gun resting threateningly on his shoulder.

The second thug, a less burly Latino, spoke to James. "No funny business, ya heard? You chill, and we ain't got no problem."

"Funny business? What's _really_ funny is your grammar."

The barrel of the nearest gun was pressed to his forehead, but he only gazed back, eyes almost like stone, unperturbed. The African turnd to watch the scene, and Amy chose this moment of averted attention to dart behind one of the vans. "No funny business," the smaller thug repeated with a death glare, pulling his gun away.

"Ever'body—coats off—now!—Yeah. Now up against the wall, hands where we can see 'em." Everyone complied, and the villain began the process of patting them down one by one and emptying their pockets. Cell phones, money, and anything of value were stuffed into a small, off-white sack. Ames watched from her hiding place, desperately trying to come up with a plan. But her ming was reeling, and each time she tried she came up empty-handed.

One of the girls cried out and tried to squirm away when, but the thug roughly shoved her back into place, drawing a hand back to strike her and remind her who was boss when James' commanding voice cut through the air. "You won't touch her."

"Oh yeah? An' whachoo gonna do 'bout it?"

"Oh nothing really, besides snapp your friend's neck," cam a chilling, nonchalant reply. Everyone looked to see that the Commodore had managed to get both his feet around the Latino's neck, feet positioned just so, so that in one swift movement the man's life would end. He must have done this sort of thing before.

_Go James!_ Amy silently cheered for him, still groping for a solution and hoping that his actions were all that were needed. The african-American stepped away from the girls just long enough that his friend kept his life before a gun was pressed to the naval commander's temple from behind. The lass cursed profusely and ducked down lower for fear of having been heard.

James, in his one moment of confusion, swiftly turned to face a third person who had come to help out with the 'mass robbery.' The face he met was both beautiful and fear-inspiring: an aesthetic Latino woman, eyes deadly, daring him to make one more false move. His guard lowered somewhat, the other thug took hold of one of his legs and forced it up over his head, knee still bent, a distinct popping noise as the hip dislocated—accompanied by a sharp cry of pain, which was cut off as a gag was stuffed into his mouth—echoing around the bridge, light glaring off his stocking so Amy noticed randomly before the limb fell limply to the ground, hanging at an odd angle. With a grin, the looting goon turned back to his plundering.

However, in Amy's case, sometimes it payed to be so randomly observant, for the glare of his stocking reminded her of the neglected pile of weaponry and clothes—and weaponry—lying some distance away from all the action. Her eyes sought out the gleam of the sword, a plan forming in her head. Her timing had to be perfect on this one. And she hoped (dearly) that an opportune moment would present itself soon, because time was running out: she recognized the woman as from her vision, and inferred that it could only be a matter of time before she tried to do what the lass so feared her doing.

The woman's gun guarding James—who was probably now unable to even_ try_ and fight back anyway—the Latino thug went over to the pile of coats and began to empty the contents of all the pockets.

The wheels in her mind spun furiously as Amy worked the kinks out of her plan. All she had to do now was wait to put said plan into action until the aforementioned opportune moment. "You know, guys," the woman called to her accomplices after a while. "It's been a while since I had some fun." Both men sniggered, not looking up from their looting. Pastor Scott's head shot up, and he locked gazes with James. After a few moments, the latter's expression turned from pain to panic as he realized what she meant. He manipulated the gag in his mouth apprehensively as she discarded her handgun and sashayed around front of him, stepping back to take in his appearance. In a last-ditch effort to look intimidating, the former-Commodore drew himself up, standing tall on his still-operating leg and squaring his shoulders, lips pursed, eyebrows drawn together, darkening eyes hard. It only succeeded in making himself look more dashing. "G-d you're hot," breathed the wench, eyes gleaming wickedly.

Amy groaned inwardly. _James, why did you have to be bron so handsome?_ she thought despairingly.

One of the woman's hands snaked out to caress the strong line of his jaw, and he abruptly turned his head away from the touch, eyes blazing, angrily manipulating the socks that had been stuffed into his mouth. He suddenly caught sight of the lass, hiding behind one of the vans in the dark. She was looking from his sword to the two gons, as if waiting for a perfect moment. Then, as if remembering a lingering threat, she looked back at the woman, and seemed startled that he had seen her. Her surprised expression was all he managed to see, however, before hands that looked deceivingly delicate forced his face back to the woman's, and her lips forcefully met his. He struggled for freedom, but her hands bound him from moving. When at last he was permitted to breathe, he jerked his head away, panting for breath, eyes automatically seeking out the girl's.

"What do you keep looking at?" the woman asked distractedly, glancing over her shoulder. Even with himself as a distraction, James noticed, she was still alert to her surroundings.

Amy ducked down just in time not to be seen. When she thought it safe again, she dared to peek over the hood again. The woman was fumbling in her pockets for something. Her gaze locked with James', and his eyes flitted from her to the clothing pile and back, and he subtly nodded his understanding of what she planned to do. There was a pause in their silent communication as he watched the offending woman with a sideward glance. Then his eyes danced back to the lass's, and something in his gaze changed as he made a decision. And Ames knew what it was. "No, no no no!" she mouthed frantically, shaking her head. _No, James, don't do it_—_don't do it, James!_ With a shaking breath, his expression changed, and he turned to face the woman again, a teasing smirk covering his inner turmoil. In one swift motion, there was no going back: he outstretched his neck and locked lips once again with the woman. She smiled into the kiss, eyes gleaming with victory, hands running through his short hair. As she closed her eyes end deepened the action, James motioned the younger lass into action with his own.

She nodded, blinking away the blurriness in front of her eyes at what his sacrifice might cost him, and, realizing both thugs had their backs turned, darted silently out from her safe-spot, snatching up the sword and handkerchief before 'appearing' behind the large goon who held the Youth Group hostage at gunpoint. She pressed the blade to his throat, whispering dangerously in his ear, "Drop your gun and loot and go silently, and I won't kill you, nor will I call the cops upon your departure...or your demise." The thug bought the bluff, swallowing heavily against the blade. Slowly, ever so slowly, the gun clattered to the ground, and the money bag fell from his hand, landing with a soft _thud_. The girl placed her foot upon the pistol and drew it back to her. She removed the sword and shoved him away. He sprinted off and did not look back. Carefully, ever carefully, using the handkerchief to hide her own fingerprints, she picked up the gun. She glanced up as she stood and saw the shocked expressions, especially that of Scott, but did not waste time explaining, instead giving them a solemn nod, and putting her finger to her lips.

Amy's eyes darted back to James. The woman had stuck her hand where it should not have gone. Even in the pain he must have been in—it glazed his eyes—he moved away. "Do. Not. Touch. Me," he growled around the gag.

"Oh? Not so playful anymore?" she chuckled maliciously, once more reaching into her pocket. She pulled out a baggie of powder and a small bottle of water, emptying the former into the latter and shaking to mix before forcing the man's jaw open with painful and surprising ease. After removing the gag, she forced the mixture into his mouth, pinching his nose shut, and pressed said gag hard against his lips, stroking his throat with a spare pinky so he'd swallow. "Maybe you just need a little help," she cooed in that maliciously smoothe voice of hers. James was no simpleton—he knew a drug when he encountered one. He refused to swallow, praying that Amy could move fast enough before he had to breathe.

The lass aforementioned turned and crept slowly and stealthily up behind the other goon. She held the pistol to the back of his head. "Drop. Your. Weapon." He did without question, gun clattering loudly and immediately to the ground. "Money too. Good. Now go." He nodded and hurried away.

Meanwhile, James' face was beginning to turn a lovely shade of red, his lungs beginning to burn. "Why don't you just swallow?" the woman asked in awed irritation. "You killing yourself just so you won't have to deal with me?" her voice softened with disbelieving awe. There was a metallic click, and the cold muzzle of a handgun was pressed against the woman's neck.

"Leave. Him. Alone," came a growl with such thunder in it that the woman decided to comply, dropping the gag and stepping aside. Just in time, too, for James' sight had begun to darken around the edges. The drugged solution exploded from his mouth, and he gasped greedily for breath, coughing and sputtering, collapsing against the pole. His nose bled from the overzealous pinching, the crimson running over his lips and down his chin. The woman stepped farther away to give him some space, and Ames looked at him worriedly. Taking the girl's averted attention as dismissal, the lady started to edge away. She froze when crazed laughter echoed around the bridge. It was as if seeing James' blood had put her in a vengeful frenzy. "You really think I'm gonna let you go, don't you?" she cackled. There was a clock as the girl pulled back the safety. "It's either jail or death, wench," the lass purred dangerously, whipping out her cell phone, handgun still carefully aimed.

"Amy," came a hoarse voice. She looked over to see James, completely unmoving but for his eyes, which seemed to plead for this _demon's_ freedom. He made an attempt to shake his head, but the only movement ensuing was a quirk of the eyebrow.

But she understood the message. Never taking her eyes off the man collapsed against the pole, she waved the handgun in vague dismissal. The woman understood, and, glancing at James, she fled. Ames did not watch her go, nor check to see that she had gone, but instead traveled over to her nephew, still holding the firearm by the handkerchief. She lifted it, but, contrary to the dismayed assumptions and cries of the group, she went around the back of the pole. She murmured to James to keep his mouth and eyes shut. Taking careful aim, she pulled the trigger. There was a dull clap, a clatter of cement as it exploded from the impact of the bullet, and the clink of chains as they dangled against the metal of the pole. Arms freed, James slid to the ground and sat motionless, eyes glazed with pain. She reached out and cupped his cheek in what she hoped was a comforting manner, gun falling forgotten to the ground. "J-James?" He blinked slowly, and came wearily back to life. Her eyes, burning with unshed tears, asking the silent question.

"I had to," he managed, voice cracking. "It was either me or everyone... Think in the rules of...of good business...or a good trade...Give one...receive many... Ahh!" His face screwed up in pain and he clutched at his leg, unable to ignore the pain any longer.

"What? What's wrong?" she asked, pushing down the panic that rose like bile in her throat, though already knowing the answer.

"It's been dislocated...," he puffed.

"Is there anything I can do?" He nodded, and instructed her on what to do. Uncertainty flickered across her face like the flames in a hearth. "What if I'm not doing it right?"

He blinked understandingly. "If I'm in worse pain, you're doing it right," he assured her. With careful but firm movement and manipulation, following his instruction exactly, she moved his hip back into its proper place. He cried out, gasping for breath. "Well done," he choked.

"Will you be all right?"

"I just need some rest." Ames frowned. That hadn't been what she meant. Knowing him, he's be physically recovered within a few days. But his mental and emotional recovery...But she let the subject alone. He was right. He needed rest.

"And you look about to freeze!"

"It's fine," he murmured exhaustedly. "Let it be."

"And you accustomed to the Caribbean? We get you warm as soon as possible." He looked reluctant. "Let me help you to the van at least."

"If you insist," he nodded. She helped him to his feet, allowing him to lean heavily upon her shoulder as he kept his weight off the injured leg. Together, they made slow progress toward the van.

Seeing the pain he was in sent Ames recoiling into the depths of her mind to think. _Someone should have seen this coming_, she thought angrily, before remembering with a bitter pang the vision she had experienced. _I should have been able to stop this. ...I wonder why she hesitated like that? That was really lucky._ "That was really low," she grunted furiously. "Anyone who does that sort of thing should—"

"Reason's got more to do with it, I think," James interrupted. "She lost a child... I don't think I've ever witnessed such a pain as this that it made someone so desperate that they would do anything to get that child back."

"How do you know?" she asked, somewhat mystified, though her anger still burned irately within her.

"It's amazing what you see in the depths of a person's eyes when such an act is being attempted." He fell silent, and both pondered. "Though I cannot fathom why anyone would think that an act so wicked could beget such an innocent goal," he murmured as he leaned against the van, the girl sliding open the door for him. "It is a curious thing that happes to a person's mind when driven by desperation."

"She may have been 'driven by desperation', but it was still the complete wrong way to go." He nodded agreement, and eased into the van with a grunt. "It won't be much warmer in here, but it's shelter from the wind at least, and it's more comfortable to rest on." He nodded again, pulling up his coat around him. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No, no. You go on. I don't want to distract you from your mission."

"Are you sure? I mean...all right then." She left the van, returning to the cold, sliding closed the door behind her, and strode back to the huddle of shaken Christians.

"Is he all right?" "What was that all about?" "Oh my G-d." "Why didn't you call the police?" "What were you going to do with that sword and handgun?" plagued the group of her.

She looked up as this last question from where_ her eyes had been trying to burn a hole through the cement_. "Some of the best _bluffing_ I will ever have done in my life," was her answer with a weary smile.

"And what if they didn't buy the bluff?" Justin (another chaperone) asked seriously. It was strange not to see even a trace of his usual cheerful self about him. "What would you have done then?"

The girl merely laughed softly, shrugging helplessly at him with a shake of her head. "Lord knows," she murmured, smile quickly fading.

"We should call the hospital," somebody suggested.

"No need," Ames cut in quickly. "_She_ did not do anything important, and James insisted that he only needs to rest his leg." Everyone exchanged uneasy or uncertain glances. "Trust me. ...Trust him."

Scott stepped forward and placed a hand on her trembling shoulder in reassurance. "Sorry about all of this."

"Why? It's not your fault. You couldn't have foreseen this. No one could have." _Except me_, she added mentally, with a stab of guilt.

But Scott looked consoled. "Is there anything we can do?"

She thought a moment, eyes growing distant and unfocused. Deafening silence followed. "Pray," she managed at last.

The young pastor nodded thoughtfully, then looked up at the group. "I think we've had enough for tonight. Everyone back to you vans."

Everyone began to disperse, eerily quiet, chatter absent, all looking shaken to the core. "Do not let this discourage you," the girl called out with a voice more confident than her heart and mind at the moment. She gestured off in the direction the two thugs had gone. "Exhibit 'A'. Exactly why we're here. To help people who may be as desperate as that. Maybe to help ease that desperation, before they turn to such risky actions. We're on a mission. Wa can't forget that." There were murmurs of agreement, and all went back to their vans. At her own van, she warned everyone to try and be quiet. "He's asleep," she relayed a premonition via her intuitiveness to them. They quietly opened the door to see, with his read resting against the middle back seat, the sleeping form, enveloped by naval coat. Well, that was one seat taken. "We'll manage," she murmured to the uncertain-looking others. They nodded and filed in. She took a seat on the floor beside his head. The other four girls took the two seats in the middle row, all being good enough friends to sit in one another's laps. Kris and Mrs. Kel climbed in last, turning to Amy as if expecting some signal. But with such the intense emotion that she watched him sleep, they did not interrupt her train of thought. She reached out and gently wiped a small tussock of hair from his forehead, aware but unreacting of the several pairs of eyes watching her. Had they looked upon the action with any eyes other than those of teenagers, they might have identified such a tender act as that of a caring mother. And thus she sat with him, watching him as the vans sped off into the night, _leaving a scorched mark in the cement._

* * *

Italics indicates hints of ...things... when not part of thought. Also, if any of this seemed racist, please accet my humblest apoligies, for I did not intend it to be taken as such. Sorry again for the content of this chapter. All comments are welcome, even flames. 

All right, tomorrow's my Birthday! Leave me lots of presents!

**Edit (6/25/07): **All right, so now everything is fixed. I do sincerely apologize for what was posted before, and I hope you enjoyed this version much more. I'll be slowly rewriting all allusions to this chapter's past life in future chapters that happen to mention it. Merry reading and writing. If you haven't reviewed this chapter a first time, please do so. (And if you want to a second, it's only a PM away XD )


	3. Cookies Bagels and Tarzan

OOOOH MAI GOSH AHM SOO SORRY! I know it's been two months, but I've had TERRIBLE writers block. And can you guess what finally broke the block? A nightmare about a dictatorial society and a massacre in my junior high band class. My flute deflected bullets, which was cool, but when the dictator came in with the guns and all the guards and stuff were whipping out pistols and the room was on fire and kids were getting tied to pillars and killed and stuff and I had no flute to use. Ironically, there were no instruments out in band class (go figure) so we were all getting killed and I woke up, cried, and started writing. So sue me. I've been worse than two months, k? If you don't believe me, cross me and I'll take my good ol' time! Or go take a look at Fears Known and Unknown...haven't updated that in AGES!

**Disclaimer:** Sleep in heavenly peace! I know I do with the clean conscious of not-owning PotC. -sob- ...Or Tarzan...

**Chapter Three: Bagels, Cookies, and Tarzan**

When both parties had returned to the base, the group that had not been present were notified to be on their toes for a potentially dangerous woman and her henchmen. Dinner was prepared and served. But Amy didn't eat with them in the lounge area. She did not eat at all. She merely sat up in the boys' room, leaning against a bunk occupied by her relative as he slept.

James' brow creased in unconscious nightmarish horror, and he murmured inaudibly before bolting upright into wakefulness. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face, and his shoulders trembled. Where was he? This certainly wasn't anywhere he remembered. What happened? He put his head in his hands, breathing heavily, shoulders trembling. All he could remember were the horrific events of his nightmare. A warmth engulfed him like a hug, and he suddenly felt secure, as if he were back in his mother's arms, a child comforted by his loving parent after a bad dream. A soft, comforting voice sang gently to him if sweet tones: "Come stop your crying, it'll be all right. Just take my hand, hold it tight. I will protect you from all around you. I will be here, don't you cry."

"For one so small, you seem so strong," he picked up the song for that single line, as if stating a fact about her.

"My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm," she reassured him. "This bond between us can't be broken." He knew she would be referring to any shame he might feel over the incident. "I will be here, don't you cry. Cause you'll be in my heart. Yes, you'll be in my heart. From this day on, now and forevermore. You'll be in my heart, no matter what they say." Rumors and stories and constant mention of things better left unmentioned would be floating around him for the remainder of his stay. "You'll be here in my heart, always."

"Always," he repeated, touching one of the gentle hands hugging him. "I had figured such an odd song would have come from this world.

"She sang it to you, didn't she?"

"So many times, as if she knew her time with me would be short."

"I imagine so. You picked up that key change exactly."

"Thanks, pet." She just smiled and came around to be in front of him on the bunk and they embraced.

"We should eat before they leave us to starve for the night. Besides, I owe you a cookie."

"You never did tell me what that was."

"You'll find out soon enough. Are you well enough to take the steps?"

"I'll take it easy on the leg, I promise."

"They're pretty steep and kinda narrow."

"I'll manage. I broke a leg once on a mountain in the Southern Americas. We still managed to climb down those rocky crags and make it back to town in one piece."

"All right, maybe you _can _make it down there. But what about back up?"

"As I said: I will manage."

"Are you sure?"

He cuffed her gently over the head. "Aye. You're beginning to sound like the Governor."

"That old dog? How?"

"All the uncertainty...and the caring for others, certainly, if only a bit too much. He always did make me stay abed an extra week after I was supposed to be released whenever I was injured in the line of duty."

"Like a long lost father of sorts."

"Yes. Actually, I—when we first met on the passage from London, he sort of took me in, like some long lost son or something. And once he became governor, I was in his house almost more than I was in my own, as if he didn't think I could care for myself properly." He took a deep breath. "I shall miss that man..."

"What? Is he all right?" Ames cocked her head in concern.

"He's fine. But I won't be seeing him again. Not any more. Since I betrayed the Navy...I can never go back."

"Well no more gloomy thoughts, hey?"

"Fine," he nodded.

She helped him up and they proceeded carefully downstairs. As they reached the bottom, they were confronted by the mass of teenagers as they headed upstairs for bed. Yeah, it was that late. Amy glanced at her watch, surprised. Had that much time already gone by? "I'll be up later," she told one of the female advisors, nodding to her nephew. The elder nodded understandingly and continued upward. "All right, time for some grub." James made a face and was about to say something when she added: "Another expression," and his mouth snapped shut. But as it turned out, the dinner foods had been put away. All that as left was the tiny snack bar that was always out. She grabbed a packet of mini chocolate chip cookies and headed down to the couches in the lounge area, and he carefully followed. "All right, cookeh time." She opened the aluminum pouch and fished out one of the small cookies.

James gave her a reluctant look. "Do I really have to, pet?"

"Yes. Yoouu dooo," she said firmly, in a 'crazed Squidward' kind of way. His expression became a bewildered concern, and he quickly popped the treat into his mouth before she exploded or something. And chewed. "Well?"

"It's sweet."

"Yah, I kinda figured that," she grinned. "I meant do you like it?"

He shrugged, swallowing. "Sure. Why not."

Her grin grew cheesey. "I knew you would. If there's one thing I know about genetics, it's that a sweet tooth is always passed on." And with that, she polished off most of the bag, finally handing the remaining cookies to him to finish.

"So then, be that they are as sweet, they can't be healthy."

"Too true." And James laughed at this. "Heh. I guess I must sound like Jack does abut his rum."

"No no. Jack would be defending the healthiness of his beloved beverage, likely saying something along the lines of 'mother's milk' or 'a man can't live without it' and such." Both thought a moment, then burst into laughter.

"Typical Jack."

"Hmmm," he agreed. And so they stayed up late into the night, talking about families and friends and past experiences and dreams and so on, before finally retiring to their bunks for some snoozing.

James settled into the foreign worm they called a 'sleeping bag', which had been loaned to him, and sighed, wondering what else there was to discover in this strange and new world.

Amy curled up in her blue sleeping bag on a top bunk and smiled to herself as she thought of what the next day would hold in store for her nephew. With a mental giggle, she drifted off to sleep.

—————

The next morning found Amy waking at ten of eight (somewhat late for her, though considered early for everyone else) to help set up breakfast. She went swiftly and silently down the steep stairs to the pantry area, where she grabbed all sorts of breakfast foods and brought them out to set up in the meal area at the small upper level of the lounge. She nearly jumped out of her skin, dropping half the cereal boxes, when a figure sprawled out on one of the couches came into view. She had expected to be alone! The head turned and she saw it was James. "Amy? Are you all right?"

She set down the rest of the food on one of the tables and took a calming breath. "You startled me," she replied with a nervous laugh.

"I'm only sitting here." Reading, so she observed.

"Well, I didn't expect anyone else to be down here." She proceeded to pick up the fallen food items and organize them all neatly on the table.

"What's that you've got, pet?"

"Breakfast. I'm on morning duty, so I'm down here early to get it ready for everybody when they wake up."

James looked out the window. "Early? It's nearly six."

"Actually, it's almost eight. Days are a lot shorter in the winter up here. Sun rises later."

"Almost eight, you say? ...And this is considered 'early?'" His eyebrows rose.

"By some. Or many." She shrugged. "I dunno, I guess this part of the word doesn't have the need to get up that early anymore. Less to do I guess."

"That's interesting." He went back to reading.

"Hey Ellie."

"Yes?"

"Where did you get the book from?"

"I keep it with me at all times."

"It's one of her diaries, isn't it?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"Yes," he replied softly. "Whenever I read them, I feel like, I _almost_ know her. I can hardly remember her from my childhood anymore. Just that one day, when she was..." he broke off.

Amy appeared by his side and gathered him into a comforting embrace. "Try not to think about it, love."

"I can't help it, Amy, it's all I've got!" He paused to calm himself. "Besides, there are enough days I have drowned out," he continues with emphasis. "If any are to overflow into conscious thought, it will be the only one of any significance."

"Fine," she replied understandingly. A few of the kids were beginning to trickle in for breakfast. She rose to get something for herself before it would get too crowded. "Can I get you anything to eat?"

"Even if I say 'no', it still won't stop you. So I believe that makes it a 'yes' even if what I mean is the opposite." That was almost Jack-like. Creepy. He flashed a smile at her, which she returned, turning and taking the steps two at a time, she returned with two bowls full of something, two glasses of milk, and a couple of saucers with large round rings on them.

"All right, I'll bite; what are they?"

"Bagels."

"And—?"

"With cream cheese spread, cereal—also somewhat unhealthy—with milk, and more milk to drink."

"You sure like you dairy," he muttered. "Ehh..."

"Another 'oy?'"

"You know me too well."

"Then that'll mean I know you'll like most of this, and there'll be no uncertainty over how safe it is to eat."

"'Almost' all of it?"

"Well yah. What good are Lucky Charms once you've eaten all the little marshmallows?" He took a spoonful of said cereal and grimaced, swallowing reluctantly. "What?"

"Is there such a thing in your world as 'too sweet?'"

"Oh. Wow...Sorry, James, I forgot how much of an adjustment this must be for you. Here, try the bagel. It's not sugary at all." He managed to consume it without making a face. "Sorry. Almost everything in this country is covered in sugar."

His eyebrows rose. "Everything?!"

"Eh...Pretty much. Ours is the country with the biggest sweet tooth." That was putting it lightly. Ouch. "Oh, and I should warn you—you might have some trouble understanding a lot of people—I know I do. Philadelphia is famous for—"

"—Famous for its 'mumble,' right?"

"Aye."

"I'll be on the lookout."

"Don't you mean 'hear-out?' Or actually, now that I think about it, it should be 'listen-out.'"

He smiled and tousled her hair. "You try too hard, pet."

"Nah, I'm just being literal."

"You haven't changed a bit."

"It's been six months. What is there to change?" They exchanged grins and went back to eating.

It was as everyone was chmoozing that there came the announcement that it was time to get dressed and ready for the day's work. Ames grinned cheesily at him. "Let's put you to work and see what you can do."

"Oh no," he moaned in good humor. "Should I be worried?"

"Is your leg all right?"

"I'll manage."

"Then uh...nope. Nothing at all to worry about, nada, zippo, nein, FÜNF!" And before he had time to look bewildered, she had bounded off to get dressed. He looked ceilingward for a moment, as if asking why again he had come.

* * *

Chapter is slow, I know, but it leads up to some stuff in teh next chapter. Happy Holidays; it'll be Christmas for those of you Christian by the time this gets posted, and for the rest of you...Hava nicechristmas hava nicechristmas hava nicechristmas nonchristian friends! NO! Forgive me, The Simpsons have invaded my brain. As I was saying, for the rest of you, think of it as a special winter holiday gift from your favorite authoress. XD

SO MANY REVIEWS! Even after such a horrible chapter, and only one negative and it wasn't even a flame! That's respect and I know I don't deserve it, but thanks anyway! Oh, and you can be sure that I'll be working mein hinter off while I'm in teh Poconos for winter break.

Replies:

**Kei-Ookami.kara.mori:** Thanks for the review. You can see that 'soon' doesn't apply with me.

**Stormwake:** Foreshadowing. Yes. Wait, there's more! It gets even better in chapters to come. XD

**Authoressinhiding:** As your friend and fellow authoress, I say to your review: Get some therapy! o.o It was creepy _and_ annoying. Congratulations, you've actually weirded me out.

**Crystal:** 0.e Uhh...ew? XP Actually it sounds really cool. Fandom? Link? Anything? I wanna take a look-see!

**marauder4ever:** I bow to you oh faithful reviewer!

**Psalm 136:** Thank you!

**TheDreamChild:** Well? You threatened to beg and beg you did not. FILTHY LIES OF THE BBC! No. Sorry, was watching the Producers again. Yay Franz Liebkin! o.e Eheheh...

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Yeah, I'm sure. In fact, now that I think about it, that's another readon why I didn't update sooner: I had absolutely no idea what to write!

**Estel Ashlee Snape:** Why thank you! Here's an update.

**ArmouredSoul:** Weird? You're telling me! And I _still_ don't know what's going on! -sweatdrop- eheheh...

**Jess is a pirate:** Konbanwa! SHINIES! Deja vu, what the hell. Anywhoi, HAI!! -waves frantically- Is it true that Matthew-Sensai was strip-dancing last week after Japanese-as-an-alternate-language Club? o.e -twitchtwitch-

**SirensinDisguise: **Hai. You seem like a new reviewer. We all know what that means... WEEHOO! NEW READER -runs around in circles- So yeah. Hi. Thanks for the review, keep 'em coming!

**ThunderBenderPrincess:** Hmm...Avatar fan, hmm? Thanks for the review!

**Noyesgirl:** Wow. That is creepy. Oh well, then happy belated birthday to you too!

**Molly:** Happy belated Chanukah! I'm coming back in January, just to let you know. Fridays at five, see you there! Allyssa? Alicia? In case you couldn't tell, I'm trying to guess Amy's baby's name. o.o

**SamanthaSparrow:** AAAAAAHHH!! -gets hit be confetti- NUUU! O.O ... dotdotdot... ... ... CONFETTI WAR! F Savvy? boom Took you long enough to review, hey? Lol, thanks for it!

Next chapter is actually in progress this time, I promise! See you then!

Now: REVIEW!!


	4. Hypocrite and more Tarzan

Okay, so it's been longer than the promised week, but as also promised, I worked my arse off during my time up in the mountains. I guess all I needed was to get away for me to get my spark back.

Reviews! Thanks for all of them!

**Authoressinhiding:** Konbanwa, mate! Did you have a good holiday? I did. Sorry for not updating sooner! O.o;;

**ThunderBenderPrincess:** Doesn't that make you like the evil-girl-whose-name-I-can't-remember who is Zuko's sister and whatnot? o.o You would make a good pirate. XD Thanks for the review!

**TheDreamChild: **Yes yes, I read the Randomishness. Very good. Update it soon, hey? Lol, I've been watching more Advent Children lately. My friend has the DVD. Thanks for the review.

**Destinysway114:** No cookies for you. XD Don't worry, Jamesie likes cookies too, he just has more self control than we do. Lol!

**Molly:** Hey, I guess I wasn't as rusty as I thought, huh? Poor Moose! -sob- Anywho, yeah I know I said I would have this up on Friday, but I ran out of time and couldn't post until tonight.

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Fünf is German. 'Floofy?' That's a first in a review...heheh, thankee!

**Stormwake:** No! How can anyone live without sugary foods?!

**marauder4ever:** Glad you liked it, and here's your update!

**ArmoredSoul:** I love your spontaneity. Red Dwarf? Never hoyd of it. Hmm. Thankee for teh review!

**obbits14:** Glad to hear from you. Long time no see, aye?

**Jess is a pirate:** It's okay, cuz you reviewed just in time for me to reply in chapter! The Simpsons stuff was from you and Liz, but where did you two get it from? There's the logic of it. YAYY SUGAR! I'm sorry, but I honestly can't imagine an in-character hyperactive Norrikens. Yeah, it's supposed to be a short time, silly. Think back to the Easter Egg after the credits in HiwP. This is Jack we're talking about. Do you really think he can stay away for _that_ long? That aside, he had never let the Turners know everything was all right, so he would have _had_ to come back to tell them sometime soon, aye? Aye. So there. Hai. -nod- Btw, we get FOOD on Tuesday! Oyasuminasai, Jeshka-kun, I'm going to sleep now...zZ

**Disclaimer:** I am a slave to my imagination. My imagination, not being physical, owns none that it did not conjure on its own.

**Chapter Four: You Were Contradicting Yourself Before You Had Anything to Contradict**

James hobbled carefully down the stairs in a green-plaid flannel shirt and jeans, loaned to him by one of the more elderly chaperones who was about the same build as him and still wore plaid. However, James Norrington in plaid flannel was a good combination. (Wink wink.) He met the Youth Group in the Lounge, and listened as they were told what they were doing this morning. "This building houses a lot of mission groups, but we also use the downstairs for some people to stay. It's a real mess down there, and we've got to get it cleaned up. You're gonna split into two groups. One will make sandwiches for the homeless, and the other will get things shipshape downstairs."

"Shipshape?" James muttered to the Lass, who stood at his shoulder. "I didn't know this would be a nautical task."

"Sarcasm noted, but it's just an expression where you come from, too, so I'm not even gonna bother." He chuckled.

"Now please divide into your groups, and let's get to work!"

"Wellp, I'm not much of a fan of sandwiches, and I'm pretty sure you have no idea what a sandwich even is, so methinks we're on cleanup duty downstairs. Watch is on the steps—they're treacherous."

"Whatever you say...?" he shrugged, looking somewhat worried.

They made their way downstairs to the basement, and followed the rest of their group through the cramped rooms filled with members of the lunch group gathering the jellies for sandwiches, to a more open area. It was a plain room with a gray concrete floor and blue cloth on the walls and low ceiling to cover the piping. Christmas lights and netting and such were strung from said low ceiling in an effort to liven things up a little. There were six narrow cots, pushed up to a pile of these-and-those that could be found in an average bedroom at the other end of the room. They needed new mattresses, and were to be organized into their own little living areas, each with its own nightstand, lamp, and mini-bureau. "There are mattresses under the bunk beds up in the bedrooms. A couple of you head up and find some cleans ones and bring them down." Amy and a couple of the other girls volunteered and raced up the steps to the girls' bedroom. They checked under the beds, and sure enough they found some mattresses, which they heaved out and down to the main level, where a couple of the boys in their group offered to take them down to the basement.

Amy led the way back upstairs. "But there aren't any more mattresses in our room," said one of the girls.

"Maybe there'll be some in the boys' room," suggested the other.

They continued up to the boys' level where they paused at the door. "What about the 'no purple?'" asked the first. Amy rolled her eyes and led the way in, soon spotting the mattresses and pulling them out. Once downstairs, they managed to maneuver the bulky things down the basement steps and through the cramped jelly rooms. Upon appearing in the 'bedroom', Amy's mattress was taken from her by another and she could see that things were shaping up nicely. The narrow beds had been organized three to one wall and three to the opposite, so that they were facing each other. Each had its own miniature living quarters, and she could see things were almost done. "Hey, we've got an extra mattress," someone said

"That's okay, we found another bedframe," replied a chaperone. She spotted James limping toward said chaperone and the remaining pile of 'these-and-those' that had not been used. Standing and maneuvering on only one leg, he and Mr. Duei, the chaperone, lifted the frame from the pile and placed it in an open space on the wall. The mattress and bedroom items followed, and everyone stood back to admire their work. "Well, all that's left now is to sweep up."

Amy looked around and groaned inwardly, seeing what he meant. The job was only half-done! The floor was littered with plaster and debris and trash and other such rubbish. With a sigh, she set to sweeping.

—————

It was around one in the afternoon when Ames, James, and their group emerged from the basement-turned-bedroom to find the sandwich group on the main level nearly finished. "Lunch time," she murmured as Scott was offering the extra sandwiches as a meal. "What's this, turkey sandwiches, too?" she asked aloud. "Hey James, do you like turkey?"

"Yes."

"Processed turkey?"

"Er..."

"Moo. I guess we'll just have to find out, then, won't we?" Before he could reply, she snatched two sandwiches and began to make her way down to the lounge. James followed wearily. She handed one to him as he sunk into the couch beside her, and took a bite out of her own.

"All right, everyone," Scott addressed the group amid their lunches. "After lunch you're going to have a little free time. Make sure you're ready in time for when we leave tonight, though, all right?"

"What are we doing later?"

"Delivering the lunches to the homeless. Now eat up. It's going to be a cold one."

"Right."

"_Really_ cold."

"Okay..."

"Like, 'Barbossa-cold', savvy?"

"Cold as death?" he asked, looking somewhat concerned.

"Er...," she shrugged, "I dunno, sounded cool though."

"...Oy..." o.e

"Whoa, hey, you actually said it without my help. G'job!" and she clapped him on the back. James only rolled his eyes and went back to consuming his sandwich.

"Oh wait," Scott was doubling back, looking somewhat embarrassed, as if remembering something. "Everyone, I forgot: we're gonna go into the city instead of free time. We'll give you all the details later when you're done eating. Just be sure you're all ready to go in maybe a half hour, okay?" There were mumbled replies, and he strode off to do...whatever it is he was supposed to be doing.

James looked at Amy again. "Into the city?"

She shrugged, eyebrows raised, shaking her head a little. "I guess so. You'd think we were staying for longer than a weekend with everything they've got planned for us to do, you know?" He nodded, taking another bite out of his sandwich. She sighed, leaning her head back on the couch. "I can't wait til this weekend is over."

"Why?"

"I mean, I'm good with the manual labor and stuff, I just don't like to do it in the cold. Nor am I a big fan of the city. Too many people, too much pollution, too much general violence."

"But you're here with friends, aren't you?"

"No. My best friend is Jewish, so obviously she wouldn't be here on a Christian trip, my other close friend is Atheist, most of my Christian friends don't even go to my church, and finally, my closest church friend is a grade lower than me, and is still in the Junior High, and this is a Senior High trip, so she couldn't come."

She had so many friends, and yet she couldn't make nice with anyone here? "Well...you've got me."

"And thank G-d for that!" She flashed a grin at him. "Now come on, let's finish our lunch and get you set up with something to keep you warm outside." James gave her a withering look that said he didn't appreciate being ordered around, then suddenly chuckled. "What?"

"Sometimes you really do act like a mother, do you know that?"

She returned the laugh. "I don't know why. Maternal instinct, I guess."

"It's odd." He stopped to think for a few moments. "Nice to know how much you care, pet."

She pointed at him, eyebrows lowered. "Watch it." He ducked his head with a smile and finished his sandwich.

Within the half-hour, lunch as a whole was over, and the group were now in their specific vans on a drive into another part of the city. They had each been given two dollars. The idea was to do something nice for just about any person on the street, though the focus was mainly on the homeless. One could...but a rose and give it to someone. One could...pool his or her money with others to take a homeless person to McDonald's (or something relatively cheap) and but him or her a meal. The list can go on.

Upon arriving at their destination, everyone was split int four small groups, each led by at least one chaperone, and moved off in all directions. The chaperone for Amy's squad was Mr. Duei. Elderly, bearded, balding of the head, mostly gray, little pepper. Very friendly. The trek through the city began.

For a good while they walked through the cold, until, after what seemed like a frozen eternity, time was up. They had not seen a single homeless person while they were out. _Prolly a good sign,_ thought Amy. She looked to James, who looked like he was trying very hard not to look cold. "Poor thing," she cooed.

"I'll be fine, so long as we get to some warmth soon."

"Well, time's up, so yeah, I think we're going back for a little while, now."

"Good," he said with vibrating jaw, teeth beginning to chatter. The Youth Group met up again, and Scott repeated her words. "So, ah...have you any ideas what is happening tonight?"

"I think we're handing out bagged lunches to the homeless."

"Oh not more of that," he scoffed.

"James!" And she flicked him in the ear. "It was once your job to help those in need, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but—."

"Same thing here."

He gave her a hard look. "Far from the same, dear. Far from it." His brow creased and he suddenly looked confused. "Pet, what is a 'bagged lunch?'"

_Subtle change of subject,_ she thought sarcastically. "It's a sandwich, juice, and snack in a brown paper bag."

"Ah."

"You know, you should really keep your voice down when you're scoffing this stuff."

"What—?"

"—Because the only reason they're letting you stay is because you're supposed to be helping us, not discouraging us."

"I'm not trying to discourage anyone."

"You may not be _trying_ to, but if someone were to hear you talking like that, especially some of these kids who are a bit timid when it comes to this sort of thing, or who are looking for any excuse not to do it, might follow your example instead! You have power, kid. You as an adult influence us as teenagers, savvy?"

"Fine, I won't talk about it. But do not make the mistake of assuming that I have changed my mind in any way, do you hear?" It wasn't a fight. It was more of a debate. The dear reader need not worry that some rift was forming due to this mutual disagreement. In fact, it felt quite good to argue for both parties, for some odd reason or other.

"You'll come around," she muttered under her breath, a gleam in her eyes. "I'll make sure of it."

His expression grew worried. "You've got that look again. Shall I fear for myself, or run around in circles as you used to do?" And just like that, the tension was gone.

"I'd pay to see you of all people running in circles like a crazed maniac."

"Crazed maniac." He put his finger to his chin in Jack-like thought. "Sounds...interesting...If you'd be willing to pay, who knoew who else would? I could make a living out of that."

"Ehh..."

"If I ever get back home, of course," he added quietly.

"But you won't."

"What?"

"You said it yourself: you can't go back to your home. Sure to your world, but not home. So!" she added, finding a loophole, "Technically, thou art homeless as well."

He snorted. "P-preposterous." The shivering had grown bad enough that his speech was affected.

"Is it, oh cold-one-in-borrowed-clothing?" He froze, eyes smouldering. "Hmm," Amy continued, pacing around him in mock scrutiny. "No home, no money, borrowing clothes and food...you're really not so much better off than they are."

"No," he denied it.

"Yes."

"But I... That's n-not..." he trailed off, eyes focusing on a point on the barely-visible horizon, thinking hard.

_Got him now,_ she thought triumphantly.

The silence stretched on and on, even through the ride back to base, during which he spent the whole ride merely staring blankly at hist calloused palms which rested in his lap. Some free time followed, in which Todd retrieved her CD player and the Tarzan soundtrack. She found her nephew in the lounge, staring blankly at the floor, thoughts far and away. "I'm so confused," he murmured as she joined him.

"Don't worry. Everything will be all right." She slipped the headphones over his ears.

"Wh-...what?" He looked at her confusedly. "What is this?"

"Shhh. Just listen." She pressed a button, and 'You'll Be in My Heart' began to play. She had figured in would calm him down a bit. Why he was so worked up was beyond her, but she felt no need to question it. The song went on and she saw him begin to relax.

He removed the headphones as the song came to an end. "Thanks, dear." He sighed. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess I've been a bit jumpy lately."

"And I understand why." His brow creased questioningly. "New world, new customs, new food, and so on. It's all new to you, and you just need time to adjust."

"No no. I think it's more than just that. I mean...for most of my life, I have had such strong beliefs. I find only now that I am such a hypocrite—that I contradict my own beliefs and concepts which I have always clung so tightly to."

"What?"

"Like this whole homeless ordeal. And my thoughts on the punishment of murderers." He laughed hollowly. They had both risen from the couch and moved off a few paces. "A murderer to murder the murderers."

"You're not a murderer!" she cried in but a whisper. "You were following the law!"

"Very technically, I was both following and breaking that law. I don't know anymore. I—ah," he broke off abruptly to scoot out of the way of a passing female chaperone. Anyone watching would have assumed he was being polite and moving out of her way—he seemed like a well-mannered man to them. But Ames saw right through it. She had seen that flash in his eyes, she had sensed that explosion of emotion as he hastily moved away.

"James," she said suddenly, and he looked at her, breathing heavily as if the lady's presence had startled him. "You're afraid of women, aren't you."

* * *

So there you have it. And it's extra extra long, to make up for the wait! I know, I know, nothing really happened, but don't worry, next chapter has some action.

For those who haven't yet noticed, this work won't have much physical action, and will instead explore the idea of emotional turmoil and ...psychological...stuff...yeah, I don't really know how to put it to words. Well, the first parts will be like that anyway. I'm not too sure about later parts. I don't have a detailed plotline thought out for that far ahead yet. Eheheh...o-o;

Well, I'll see you next chapter!

REVIEW! Please. Arigato gozaimasu.


	5. Captain MeraSparrow no more

Hey all! Sorry for the wait, I actually had this chapter finished about a week ago, but was feeling unmotivated to type it up. I wanted to post, I just didn't want to type, savvy?

You know, it' funny: on the day that I finished writing this chapter, they issued a Code Blue. Freakish. And kinda cool. No. Not cool, kinda FREEZING MY BEHIND OFF. Yay horses, though, cuz they keep you warm. XD

Reviews!!

**Jess is a pirate:** Japanglish and/or Gerpanglish will maketh a debut sometime in one of the other sequels. She's still fifteen here, mate. Next sequel is a Halloween time type thing, oki? Oh, and it's not cold for irony: It was actually that cold when this all happened last winter.

**TheDreamChild:** -facepalm- Geez, you say you're learning Japanese and suddenly everyone is talking to you in it. Thanks for the translations, mate, or I'd _still_ be lost! X THREEWAY SWORDFIGHT! Can't wait, mate.

**Authoressinhiding:** WolfLeggy dances? O.o didn't know that... It's anew fear, I'm afraid. Nothing to do with Elizabeth (bless him!), nor with a hatchet, but I'm sure this chapter may answer that for you...

**Little Miss Sparrow:** There you go with that 'Floofy' again. Lol. INSECURITY IN ATTRACTIVE MEN is what I live for. Thus the whole point of the means through which Amy went to get James to help her and Jack in the first story. You remember that, don't you? Heeheehee...

**Destinysway114:** Yes, you're still in Jr. High. This is about last year's retreat, savvy? You weren't there for a reason, mate. Zuruzuru zuruzuru. Zuruzuru zuruzuru!

**ArmoredSoul:** Actually, I'd rather like to hear about that dream! Eheheh. Sounds creepy and funny at the same time! A Perfect Mix! Here's the chapter.

**Molly:** His mom sang 'You'll be in My Heart' to him as a child, so when he hears the song, it reminds him of her and helps to calm him down. That's all. Oh yeah, and when she sang it to him a couple of chapters ago (the first time she sang it) it was more like a conversation, makeing reference to the events of the day and such. Go back two chapters and read that section again, it may be more clear to you.

**Aranel Cugedhiel:** Heck of a name. I like it. What means it anyway, mate? XD Thanks for the review, and here be teh chappie!

**Disclaimer:** I own everything! -Disney people look angry- Nothing! I own Nothing!

**Chapter Five:** **Fearing the Inescapable **

James snorted, laughing nervously. "What are you talking about, pet? I was merely moving out of her way."

She rolled her eyes and led him to a more secluded area (a.k.a. the pantry) and closed the door behind them. "You are. I can feel it."

"It's a good thing you're not in my world any more, or they might think you a witch again."

"Let's not deviate from the subject at hand, shall we?" He nodded sullenly "Ever since...you know...you've been all jumpy and stuff. James, not all women are like that."

"Do you know them all that well?" He went to the door and opened it a crack to look out and watch his 'predators' chatting and schmoozing and laughing in the other room. "It occurs to me that no matter how well one knows another, there is always some dark, hidden secret, lying in wait to burst out and take victim those around."

"All right, now you're just being paranoid."

He sighed. "I'll get over it soon enough. Women are unavoidable. And I'm _not_ afraid," he added defensively. "I am just wary."

"Right," came the reply, soaked with skepticism.

"Come on, now...I think it's time we were getting ready to leave," he replied with a slightly edgy voice.

"Subtle," she quirked an eyebrow. "But since you're right, I'll cut you some slack."

"What?"

"Come on," and she dragged him off to go get ready.

By sunset, the Youth Group had moved to somewhere in West Philadelphia. Outside. In the Code Blue cold. Everyone was being organized into groups. And then they waited...

And waited...

And waited...

And while the length of time they were waiting was likely less than an hour, the cold made every moment seem to last much longer. Ames could no longer feel her legs, thanks to what Mr. Duei called a 'lazy wind'; instead of going around, it went right through you. "Any idea what the bejimminy we're waiting for?"

James, standing beside her, shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Finally, a lady drove up. Todd heard her companion snort when the woman stepped out of her car, but only rolled her eyes and tried to ignore his reactions. Everyone was led all over this part of the city on foot. It was good to be moving again. Lord, was it good to be moving again! They were shown the rundown, poverish part of town, to describe it briefly. The street was bathed dimly in an orange glow. A train track ran directly over the road and buildings. Every once in a while, one of said mechanical beasties thundered overhead, causing several to startle, despite prior warning. They were shown the AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) Headquarters. Its sign was the only neon in sight, in sharp contrast with the downtown Center City area. They were shown all sorts of things; given a tour of the living conditions, to put it simply. And, just as Amy's limbs were beginning to scream in complaint to the cold, they stopped around the corner of a building, sheltered from the wind. There, they met a man, African American ((A/N: To put readers wary of racism at ease, all the African American characters are typical of Philadelphia. A large portion of the population are of African descent.)), dressed in layers, eyes somewhat red, appearing old, a little grizzled, and none too cold. Everyone was gathered around him and their guidewoman.

The old man's name was Ed, so they all soon learned. He was a homeless man, and part of a close-knit ministry/community of homeless people. He had actually been able to make enough money to get himself out of homelessness and poverty, however he had chosen to stay homeless to continue his ministry. He gave them words of wisdom and words of prayer, motioning someone forward every once in a while to use as an example of his words, placing an arm around him or her as he would an old friend.

There was a certain charm about Ed that made him knowable. Just after meeting him, Amy felt like she had known him for a lifetime. He soon gestured for her to come to him, and he placed his arm around her like he had any other, and spoke about the need for prayer. Everyone in his community needed the prayers of others, he said—here, the group prayed—but so did everyone in hers. He gestured to a young man and said to her, "Now I want you to put your hand on him and pray for him."

It was Justin Kel, a boy her own age whom she wasn't particularly fond of, due to his acting like...well, like a teenage guy ((and here, the authoress shall make a face.)) But she prayed for him nonetheless. He bowed his head and she placed her hand upon it, and she began to pray. (Said prayer shall not be typed here for the sake of non-Christians.) When she had finished, Ed called another two to him to pray for each other. And finally, when all he had called forward had prayed and been prayed for, he said: "Now you have prayed for the people. You have prayed for each other. Now pray for me." And the group gathered as close as they could get, so that each person could lay a hand upon him. They all bowed their heads, closed their eyes, and as a group began to pray.

"Guide him in you, oh Lord," was Amy's input. Silence followed the words of each person as everyone searched for the right words.

"Give him the strength and compassion to help those that need him," she was surprised to hear James add in.

Several others added to the pool of prayers, then Scott finally said a full prayer and ended with: "And all G-d's people said:—."

"Amen."

Ed then bid them return to their cars and continue with the night's mission. They piled back into the vans—which seemed even colder than the outside air—and were on their way. "So, ah, remind me again what the point of that was?" James murmured.

"Enthusiasm boost. Get everybody pumped up and excited, you know?" They parked on a street and unloaded, students and chaperones, along with bag-lunches. They started down the street, following their guide, toward the subway. It had been said that those without homes shelter in the spacious subway stations when a Code Blue was in effect and dictated that they must be off the streets. A lot in this area actually preferred it to the homeless shelters, they were told.

Nearing the corner, they spotted an 'ambassador', so to speak. The first sign that this was the place. "Do you have any food? I'm very hungry, see..." Scott handed him a lunch. "Thank you, thank you, sir."

"That's why we're here," the young pastor smiled friendly.

"There are a lot of people down in the station," the homeless man pointed.

"Thanks, that's where we're headed." And the group began to head off once again.

A final "Thank you," followed them in their departure.

Coming down some stairs, they came upon the food courts of the junction of two corridors. It was surprisingly warmer underground, which momentarily confused the girl with her somewhat scientific/logical mind, as she first thought, _Well doesn't heat rise?_ The group continued through the food area, and Amy wondered to herself how often or easily someone could break into one of these restaurants out of desperation for food.

There were people here and there, and Amy wondered why her group wasn't stopping to feed them as well. However, that question was soon answered when they came upon a large room (to be described by detail rather than by name because the authoress is a ditz and has absolutely _no_ idea what the crocodile machine is called) which was white with plaster walls and ceiling which were cracked and paint peeling. There was an elevator across the room from the door, and a stairwell just through the doors in the far corner. And all around there were homeless people.

Scott greeted them warmly and sincerely, and a few welcomed the group. The Youth divided into two groups—one for lunches, one to hand out extra winter garments—and from there divided into groups of four or five, one chaperone per group plus Commodores. Ames, James, and Scott worked with the garment distribution. The three of them, plus the other three kids in their small-group, began their circuit around the room. Hats, gloves, and especially socks were in high demand, scarves following close behind, and blankets. Coats did not seem as popular—everyone had at least one—but eventually, the coats disappeared too.

James did his fair share of distributing also—even with a sincere smile when people thanked him. He was keeping a good distance away from the ladies, but that aside, he was hiding his phobia pretty well. The groups peered into the nearly-empty bag, and James reached in, pulling out the final item. It was a soft, fluffly rabbit toy. Just to hug it close would help keep you warm if you were small enough. He looked up to see a little girl watching, looking at said little bunny curiously. Desiringly. He invited her over through eye contact and stooped down to her level. "There you are," he gave her the toy. She looked at it with a pleased expression and hugged it tightly, then looked up at him with a huge smile, and jumped on him in an enthusiastic hug, knocking him onto his back. She sat, giggling, on his stomach. Ellie smiled and laughed softly, yet heartily. "You're welcome." He rose, picking the young lass up as he did, and carried her over to her mother. "Have a nice evening, ladies." And with a polite bow, he turned back to the youth group, who had now gathered in a circle, joining hands for prayer, led by John, another African American homeless man, friend of Ed, who played a large part also in the Christian community here, and also had a young and friendly rottweiler.

The prayer went up, and they turned to go. With an "oh!" James tripped over a person lying on the ground behind him that he had not seen. He picked himself up, dusting himself off and apologizing frantically. "Goodness! I'm terribly sorry, Madam!" For in fact, though the person's form was covered by a blanket, a woman's hair was indeed visible. She did not, however, respond; did not so much as even move. "Miss? Are you all right?" he asked with concern, stooping down to the person.

_Good for him,_ thought Amy, watching him. _He's really sucking it up._

"I'm fine thanks," came a curt reply.

James froze upon hearing her voice. It was a voice he was certain he would never forget. "You," he whispered hoarsely, hastening to withdraw.

Hearing his reaction, said woman sat up, revealing her identity. Yellow-suede jacket and strikingly beautiful appearance had him wide-eyed. She gasped with recognition and raised a hand toward him, about to say something, but at the movement he turned tail and fled.

"James!" Amy chased after him. A short way down the hall, away from everyone, she found him slumped against the wall, hugging his knees, trying desperately to control himself. "James?" she touched his arm gently, and he flinched before opening his eyes and realizing it was her.

"Wh...what's happened to me?"

"You're afraid is all."

"I've been afraid before—had a fear of ship battles and gunnery back when I first started out—but I never ran away from it."

"You were on a ship, love. There's no place to run." He didn't reply, just buried his face in his knees, trying to regain his composure. _Why is he like this?_ she wondered with concern. _He's like an animal acting out of instinct._

There was a noise, and she looked up to see Mikey, the young rottweiler, trotting over. With a whine, sensing James' distress, the dog nudged his arm. The man mumbled something into his lap, something like "Away, cur," and said nothing more. Puppy pawed at him, and a "Leave me _alone_," ensued. Finally, starting to get irritated, Mikey put his paws on the man's shoulder and proceeded to stick his nose in the nearest ear. "AHH! COLD!" James' head shot up and he fell over to one side. Immediately, the dog stood over him, covering his face with licks. Ames held back laughter. He sat up just as John was approaching to collect his pet, and gave said slobbery beastie a stern look.

The lass inwardly groaned—though still holding back laughter—hoping that Mikey hadn't done the wrong thing. Her worry was in vain however, for James soon broke into laughter. The rottweiler gave a happy bark, and proceeded to sit on the former Commodore. "Now now, you're much too big to sit in my lap," he laughed, scratching the yearling behind the ears.

The beast leaned into the touch, tail wagging and tongue lolling happily. "My apologies, sir," he looked up at John. "I acted inappropriately."

"No, no, Mr. Norrington. Our apologies." The man had taken off his hat and was wringing it in his hands. "We all knew Elena was desperate, but we never thought she'd do something like _that."_

"Well she didn't, I'll have you know, and either way it's all in the past now," he replied curtly, as if unhappy about being reminded again. "Now then, we probably should be going, Amy."

"Yeah, the guys are prolly waiting for us."

James looked at Mikey, eyebrow raised. "Do you mind?" Canine whined and licked his face. Ames laughed. Commodore blinked. "I guess so." And he pushed the dog off his lap, standing and dusting himself off. "Good night."

"Good night. Thank you both. G-d be with you."

"And also with you." The men shook hands, and with a final pat to Mikey's head, James and his young companion headed off.

As they were strolling back the way they had come, a sudden thought hit the girl. "James..."

"Yes?"

"...How old are you?" He hadn't exactly acted so adult just then, and she didn't know his age anyway.

He thought a moment, as though counting the days. "My thirtieth birthday was less than a fortnight ago," he offered.

She stopped in her tracks. "Are you serious?"

He nodded. "But don't tell anyone," he added with a joke in his voice. "I had to lie about my age to be accepted into the Navy while I was younger than the rest."

She placed her hand dramatically over her heart. "Your secret's safe with me." _So young!_ thought she, not really understanding why she was so surprised.

And thus they continued onward, quiet conversation echoing gently behind them, fading without hurry into the conclusion of the chapter.

* * *

Next chapter well under-way. Now review. Or else Jack Sparrow shall forever mar the face of Shakespeare.

Savvy?

-Barbaro's Angel (Formerly known as Captain MeraSparrow, and still retaining her rank as Captain.)


	6. Still not Captain MeraSparrow

Well hey hey hey, I got this chapter done the day after I posted the last chapter, and what do you know, chapter seven is even finished. Even chapter eight has a good start on it. It's all thanks to someone my mom met on TheSimsOnline who gave me some advice upon hearing about my block: "Writer's block is an author's greatest tool; it gets you to think outside the box you're in."

Too true! So now my worst enemy is also my greatest tool! BANGERANG! So...who wants cheese? Pie? Update? Read.

**Disclaimer:** Seriously. If I owned these guys, do you really think Jack would have died?

**Chapter Six: Discovery of an Unknown Secret**

They exited the subway station, and were about to pile into the vans when one of the small groups told Scott a man, coincidentally also named James, also another friend of Ed's, had not gotten a lunch. Since said group had not used their two dollars from earlier that day, they were going to take him out for a nice bite to eat. So, everyone else now would have to wait for their return. The van sped away, leaving the rest of them shivering in the cold.

It was within moments that a couple of the boys spotted a small Seven-Eleven across the boulevard, nestled between other buildings, and soon gained permission from the adults to run across and get a snack. Amy elected to go along as well. She turned to James. "I know it's cold and now's a kind of fragile time, but I want you to stay here. I don't want you crossing the road." She suddenly blushed, and embarrassed smile sprouting. "I really _do_ sound like a mom. Okay, just a street as big as this, you understand?" He nodded. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, no. I'm sure supper will be coming soon. You go on, pet," he smiled softly, shoving her gently in the direction of the store.

She flashed him a grin and hurried across the wide road in a break in the traffic. Once inside, she grabbed a bag of Lay's Sour Creme and Onion chips off the rack, payed for it, and began devouring said bag's contents. It seemed like only minutes later that Scott appeared in the store to collect them all.

——–

From there, they went straight to dinner. At a Vietnamese restaurant, so the kids could try something new. Upon gaining their seats, coats and jackets slung over the backs of the chairs, James leaned in with Amy. "Forgive the incessant questions, pet, but what, praytell, does 'Vietnamese' mean?"

"'Of Vietnam,'" she grinned cheesily, showing she was taking it oe hundred percent literally.

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. What is Vietnam?"

"'Tis a country. At least in this world, and it wasn't made a country until recently, and by recently, I mean _after_ colonial times, savvy?"

"Er—sure."

The food, no matter how different from what she was used to, Ames rather enjoyed. The same could not be said for many of the other girls, though a few enjoyed it. The guys, being guys, didn't much care what the heck it was they were eating, so long as it was edible. The adults, being adults, had learned to enjoy such a wide variety of cusines that there was no cusine they truly disliked. Even James was managing not to make a face.

A group meeting in the base's lounge followed the three-course dinner, in which the kids shared their feelings before and after the day's activities. Amy was the third to raise her hand, and when called upon, she stood like the others had and spoke. "I was timid about all of this. Reluctant to participate, even. I just kept thinking 'Oh they're different, they're not like us,' but once I interacted with them, I realized they are normal people like any of us, just fallen on hard times and in need of a little help. I'm pretty glad I got to share in the experience."

Others rose and said similar things. They spent about twenty minutes on the topic before Scott stood, looking around at them all and asking if anyone else had anything to say.

Hesitating at first, but the with a flowing confidence, James rose also. "To say I have been completely honest would be to further mar the face of honesty." Amy's expression dropped. _Oh no..._ "I have in reality never done such as what we did today, and was instead invited by my dear friend to join in on the experience. Now, understand, I come from a place where social class is important. Thus, I came with a mind that I was above those people we helped today. Better than them. And I discovered that I have been a total and utter fool. I found that I am more like and of them than I could ever have imagined. I'm...glad I came."

A cheer and applause followed this as he sat again, and Amy imagined ascending strings growing and climaxing in inspirational melody. He looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Why are they cheering?"

"Because you followed the path G-d wanted you to take, and it has made you a better person for it. It's because you found it in yourself to discover new things not only about the people we helped, but also about yourself." They embraced and the girl's mental music crescendoed even louder. So full were her ears of that melody that she hardly noticed the cheering had stopped, and did not until James' hug suddenly tightened. Her eyes snapped open and the moment, along with the embrace, was lost, thus ending the need for the music. It was then that she noticed everyone was looking around apprehensively.

"What's up?" James looked ceilingward. "I mean, what's happening?"

"Did you not hear the music?" She blinked. "Amazing music, that filled the room."

"Hey, c'mon, guys—we'll figure it out later, let's end the night with a prayer first, shall we?" Scott offered. Thus they prayed, and the search for hidden speakers and such began.

Amy turned to James. "Can I talk to you?" And before he had a chance to answer, she was dragging him upstairs to the girls' bunk room. She sensed his discomfort about the room, but other than her sixth sense, he showed no signs of it, and they both sat on a vacant lower bunk.

"Now what's this about?"

"That music we heard down there?"

"Yes...?"

"I was imagining it."

He chuckled lightly. "No you weren't. We all heard it."

"That's just the thing: I was imagining it in my head before everyone heard it out loud."

His expression dropped. "What?"

"Yeah."

"So you're saying that the music came from...from you?"

"No. I'm saying that I _think_ the music came from me."

James took a deep breath, leaning back. "Maybe..."

"What?"

"I have an idea...but we'll have to test it somehow..." He thought for a few moments more. "Think of a song. Any song at all. And concentrate on it like you were just now," he ordered as he rose, facing her.

"Wh...okay." She squeezed her eyes shut, '_Two Hornpipes'_ beginning to play in her head, and she willed the music to become real. As she concentrated, James limped to the door and shut it. His hand still on the doorknob, he jumped when a lively jig he recognized from Tortuga began to play from nowhere. Ames blinked her eyes open and looked around, smiling as she listened to that fun little tune. "Wow."

James, who instead had his ear pressed to the door, suddenly looked at her. "Stop the music. Someone is coming." And she did, though she did not quite know how. Simultaneously, he opened the door to meet Scott. "Master Mako, what a pleasant surprise. Do come in."

Scott stepped in, though blocking the way so that the door could not be closed again. "Listen, I know you probably haven't heard about this, but we have a rule, see—."

"'No purple?' Yes, I have heard of it."

"And you know what it means, right?"

"Er...well..."

"That's a no," Amy called from one corner of the room, where she appeared to be searching for something.

"Well, see, the idea is that the guys stay out of the girls' room and the girls stay out of the guys' room."

"Well I knew that. I meant that I didn't know how the colour purple fit into all this."

Scott's eyebrows rose. "Really? Oh. Then why was the door closed?"

"We were searching for the course of the phenomenon downstairs. I had found something behind the door," he leaned down to pick up an object, "and had to close it to get to this." He held up a metal-and-plastic gun-like device.

"Um...James? That's a hair dryer," Ames said helpfully.

He gave it a look. "...Oh."

"No, no. I found it. Somebody left these on." And she held up a couple of portable speakers, and iPod dangling from the attached wires.

"Oh okay," Scott bobbed his head. "I'll go tell everyone so they can stop looking." He turned to James. "Just remember; no purple."

"Right," Norrington nodded obediently...not that he would actually be obedient, however... With a positive grin, the young pastor left them. The former-Commodore then turned to the girl. "That was a good job you found that just when you did."

She grinned her cheesey grin...Nervous grin. "Yeah, about that..."

"Hmm?"

"Well it wasn't exactly there at first, and I was just really, _really_ hoping I could find a good excuse and I just kind of...found it and..." she trailed off, and they stared at each other in a shocked silence.

"Amy..." he began haltingly, breathlessly. Hesitantly, reluctantly. "You may just be a witch."

"A witch—?"

"–No," he cut her off. "No spells were cast... Then a Sorceress."

* * *

Thanks for all the reviews! Praise:

**Authoressinhiding:** Don't be interested. It's ugly. So yeah. Don't worry, I still have to show young James the movie, and things shall be explained then. Merry and Candy to be interesting? Uh oh. Better update soon. xP

**Molly:** Yes, in fact I do know where this is going. BARBARO -sob-

**Destinysway114:** You're in Junior High still because this happened last year. So you were still in Junior High and that's that. Enough already. Oh yeah, and WHY the heck were you hitting me after bells? -angry face- Oh, and just wondering, but are you homophobic?

**Jess is a pirate:** Face it, Jess. Jack is about 36 in the movies, so Jack and James are about 8 years apart. After twenty-five, a gap that size ain't so rare, savvy? Yes, I forgot AxelxSparrow, so as soon as I read your review, I had to go watch it again! xP

**ArmoredSoul:** I changed my name to honor my hero, Barbaro, winner of last year's Kentucky Derby, and definitely one to win the Triple Crown if not for the shattering of his hind cannon in the Preakness. He was doing really well until a series of recent setbacks, and he had to be put down. -sob- But at least Smarty Jones is still around, and reading about him is just as fun. (Both horses are from my area, see.)

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Oh! That sounds like a lot of fun! Tell me if anything happens! Oh and maybe Jack _will_ show up, but I'm not entirely sure how or for how long. Crocodile machine–off the DMC blooper reel, mate. I use it to refer to something whenever I forget what it's called. Much fun. xP

**Stormwake:** "He seems like a new character, and yet still himself." So you said in your last review. Do you know that is one of the greatest compliments a reviewer can give? EXTRA RUM TO YOU! -hugs in death grip-

————–

Now then, kindly review, if you please.


	7. Secrets

Hey all. Nice day for a review, eh? Had a snow day today, figured it was the opportune moment to put it up. XP

**Disclaimer:** It is my intention to commandeer some of these characters, pick up a plot in Tortuga, write, picture, ponder and otherwise publish my weasely black guts out.

**Chapter Seven: Experimenting with the Unknown**

She fell back, stunned. "No way."

James reached out a hand and helped her up. "Well it must be true; there's no other explanation for it." She looked up at him, eyes glistening with unexpected tears. He suspected it was because she was afraid of what she had become, so he gathered her into a hug, stroking her hair soothingly. "Shh..."

"I'm so sorry!" she began to sob softly into his shirt front.

"What? Why ever—?"

"It's my fault your mother was accused of witchery. It's my fault she's gone, and my fault you had to go through so much pain. It's all...my fault..."

His hand went from stroking her hair to rubbing her back. "There there..."

She gasped for breath, he nose having been squished into his chest, turning her head to listen to his heartbeat, sobbing still. "Where? _Where?_"

"I do not blame you. I know for a fact my mother was no witch. She was only accused because she had a few possessions from this world which seemed rather, ah, unworldly—pun not intended." This quieted her somewhat. "And besides," he went on, "if it weren't for you, she would never have been able to enjoy life for even the length that she did. And... I wouldn't be here either; so no one day's head start for Sparrow."

"C-c-captain," she managed shakily. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't be."

"—I just can't help but feel responsible." And she continued to cry.

He shushed her gently when an idea came to him. "Come stop your crying, it'll be all right," he sang to her in a gentle baritone. "Come take my hand, hold it tight/ I will protect you from all around you/ I will be here, don't you cry..."

"James, I never realized..." she sobbed, though beginning to quiet down.

"What?"

"...You're a good singer!"

"Well, I sang it for you, pet."

"No, I mean really—it's like you're a professional."

He continued to sing, hoping to calm her. It was some time into the second verse when he was cut off by Scott poking his head in the door. "Hey, we're playing some games downstairs, d'you wanna come down and join us? Oh, what's wrong?"

James gave him an embarrassed look. "She's being homesick for me." It wasn't _so_ much of a lie...

"Um...okay..."

"Look at her, Reverend. She's exhausted." And _that_ was no lie at all.

"Oh. Maybe you should turn in early. It's okay, you don't have to play Twister."

"Twister?" Her head poked up. "I own!" And she raced off.

"Ehh..." Norrington gave the other man a strained look. "Some niece, isn't she?" And he followed.

Once downstairs, the game had already begun. Several were waiting in line for the next game, and the others were playing some board games and card games. The former-Commodore sat in a couch, immediately sinking another five inches into the butt-trap, and watched contentedly as the kids all twisted and stretched, straining to keep their balance and still touch the correctly-colored circles. Amy, with years of experience in the saddle, a balancing act in itself, naturally won.

The next group of people (for indeed only six could play at a time) were getting ready to begin the next round, and they pulled James up from his seat, asking him to join them. He had managed to befriend some of the boys, and a reader may imagine they have become fond of him. The girls were there, too, and one of the female chaperones was going to participate. But he only smiled and agreed to play. He was tired of being afraid, he decided. He had absolutely nothing to fear here. Amy read him like a book, and grinned proudly to herself. She elected to be the spinner. _Now it's time for some fun_, she thought wickedly. _Let's see what you can do, Ellie-boy._ And she spun. "Right foot, red," she called out. There, the first move had been spun. She spun again. "Right hand green." ((A/N Color order RYBG. It's probably not right, but I was too lazy to go and check)) That was the dot farthest away. Good. She wanted to make this a challenge for the physically fit Commodore. _I wonder..._ She spun again, this time half-willing it to stop on left-hand-red. It did not. "Left foot yellow." _I guess I need practice. Is it really possible that I could do this?_ She tried again, this time giving a good effort in will and focus for it. "Left hand, red." _Sweet!_

With three limbs on one side and a hand on the complete opposite, the position was difficult. On the next spin, both the girls had fallen and were out. Spin...concentrate... "Left foot blue." It took some adjusting of position, but the man managed to stay in the game. Ames paused, seeing how long they could hold the position. One of the boys' socked feet slipped out from under him, nearly knocking the female chaperone over as he went down.

Spin...concentrate... "Right foot green." The lady slipped. It was down to James and one of the boys. "Left foot, red." The two had to maneuver around each other, given their positions. It went on until, twisting into a truly uncomfortable position, James won. The man was flexible. There was a small applause, and he bowed comically and sat back down. However, as he approached a couch, Amy noticed his limp had grown more noticeable. Handing off the spinner to some other willing soul, she sank...and sank into the couch beside him.

He gave her a look. "That was your doing, wasn't it?"

_Was it?_ she thought uncertainly. She tried to look innocent. "I was just experimenting, that's all."

"Then that's...good for you," he growled through gritted teeth, pain becoming audible in his voice.

"I'm so sorry, James, I completely forgot you were hurt."

"No."

"Huh?"

"No more being sorry. We've -ah- had enough of that for today, all right?"

"Fine. Are you going to be okay?"

"It'll pass. So it was -ah- working, then, hmm?"

"Yeah, most of the time," _unless it was all coincidence_, she silently added doubtfully. "The thing is, I still don't know what it is I was doing to make stuff happen."

"We'll figure it out. It just takes some time."

"So then you're not going back to your wo—_home_?" she caught herself, recalling they were still in a crowded lounge.

"Not so long as you still need help, pet," he replied sincerely, pain having passed.

"Aww. You're as sweet as pie."

He put on his sweetest face—which, by the way, was somewhat creepy. "Not cookies?"

"Sure, cookies too."

"Glad to know I'm such a treat to you," he grinned.

Her face set into comically pissed-off. "No cookies for you!" she snapped good-naturedly.

He pretended to pout. They both chuckled. "We'll see what we can do tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Hmm?"

"We're all going home tomorrow."

"Oh...do you think your family will allow me to stay?"

"Well, let's see...you and Jack were the ones who brought me back to them, and they must be eternally grateful, so I don't think they'll mind too much, save for the no head's up." By now, he understood what such expressions meant. "And my loud-mouth sister came home for the weekend, but she'll be on the train back to college by the time we get home." He didn't bother asking what a train was. "So we should be good."

"Then after we get there, we can get to work."

"Right," she grinned. But her smile quickly began to fade. "Er...just in case, let's try some stuff tonight, too."

"All right. Meet me down here at midnight. I believe I have something important to show you."

"What? Really?"

"Yes."

"All righty then!" Ace Ventura. "So hey James..."

"Yes, Todd?"

"Were you feeling at all carsick in the vans this weekend?"

"Surprisingly not."

"Surprisingly?"

"Yes. When I was first starting out nautically, I had terrible motion sickness..." And they spent the rest of the evening immersed in stories of James' first adventures aboard the _HMS Falcon_.

* * *

Next chapter is completed. Ninth however has not yet been started. Working a little on Fears instead. Next few updates may take longer.

Reviews, thanks for 'em! Praise:

**Authoressinhiding:** Heehee, thanks! I'm sure James appreciates not being seen as a snob for once, too. Work on the whole...updating thing, eh?

**ArmoredSoul:** o-o Wow. No more sugar before reviewing, oki? Thanks though! XD

**Little Miss Sparrow:** I know what you mean. At first, I couldn't quite grasp it either. Him saying 'pet' was foreign to me. However, love is too Jack, and darling and such are too ooc. But once I got to know his character, pet seemed to start coming naturally. Thanks for the review.

**Destinysway114:** You'll see, mate.

**Molly:** I updated Fears. I updated Fears. I updated Fears. Someone call your mom! Lol!

**marauder4ever:** You need to find yourself some sleep, mate. Thanks for finding the time to review! (If that seems sarcastic, I don't mean it to be. One can never tell with writing, but I am being sincere.)

**TheDreamChild:** I dunno, I kind of prefer canon Cloud to KH demonic Cloud, you know? For the record, it's more fun to play the games than to watch the cutscenes online. Update sometime soon, ne.

**Stormwake:** Like I said: EXTRA RUM TO YOU! Thanks for the support!

**SamanthaSparrow:** Eh? Anatawa excited desuka, ne? Hai. A-pu-dei-tu desu. Arigato!

Now, ten reviews per chapter isn't too much to ask, right? Please review.


	8. Midnight

Omgh! Hii! I'm so sorry for the wait. I've actually had this chapter finished since before my last update, but...well, I didn't want to type it up or post it. I wasn't in the mood, you know? Anywho, next chapter is well underway (thankfully!) and actually nearly done. Next chapter and a half done for Fears, if anyone was wondering. To be updated over the weekend or something...

Listened to OK Go and the Spirit Stallion Soundtrack. Much fun, much fun.

Anywho, even with so much time to review, we still don't get ten reviews. But hey, then that's unfair to those who actually care whether this story continues, so I guess I can't really complain. Praise to those of you who aren't too lazy to review. -coughsamcoughcough-

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Lol, Simon versus James...James would so shoot him before he had a chance to criticize. Ahh the corruption...innit great:p But yeah, he's a pretty good singer. The only problems...James: "What's a microphone?" And Jack Davenport going "WTF" when he sees himself (ish) competing and owning American Idol. Ha. That's a funny thought. XD

**TheDreamChild:** Mate, the wing is a demon wing. He's demonic whether you deny it or not, lol. I don't mean it rude-like. I'm just stating fact. Like Sephiroth is an evil angel, Cloud is an angelic _demon._ Anywho (wow), no that wasn't part of my plans, but it may be now! Heehee... So is KH fun yet? Lol.

**Destinysway114:** No more ice cream for you Oh Em Gee. Haha...Twister...lol... He can dance, yeah, but dance from his days. If he tried dancing today's mix...well, it would be like me dancing, you know? (Wow I just dissed myself) So did the rabid chicken catch you?

**Authoressinhiding:** I know the feeling. I'll get around to reading your updates eventually (sorry I haven't yet!) but I'm just not in the mood, you know? Sorry. Thanks for your support though! And even though I'm not -currently- reading your fics (I will soon, I promise!) you know you have my support too.

**Armoredsoul:** Special person powers! Yayy! And Twister. Twister is fun. No story is good without it! Haha creepy cheerful Norrie. Thanks, that made me laugh.

**Stormwake:** I know. I was laughing too. Not sure why, cuz when you really think about it, it's not creepy, it's just...kind of out of place, you know? Lol. Thanks much for teh review, mate.

**EvilChibiHikari:** NEW REVIEWER! -runs around in circles a few times- WEEHOO! Well thanks! I understand thy laziness. And I completely agree with your statement concerning James. Thanks for the review. Keep 'em coming if you can.

**Jess is a pirate:** Hey, I'm not flexible either, but Twister keeps me limber. Lol, I don't know. Horseback riding and marching help with that, too. -shrug- Yeah. Thanks for getting around to reviewing, though. I appreciate it!

**Disclaimer:** It is my intention to commandeer some of these characters, pick up a plot in Tortuga, write, picture, ponder and otherwise publish my weasely black guts out.

**Chapter Eight: Midnight and Homecoming**

Midnight came and went, and shortly after, she was able to sneak from the room without a worry that anyone would still be awake. While everyone had been up late the previous night, exhaustion had set in and they were all out with the lights. She crept silently down the steps to the lounge. It was pitch dark, but the girl had been smart enough to grab a flashlight. She clicked it on, and it seemed to know already to train on the invisible figure of James standing in the middle of the room.

"You're late." Illuminated in the ghostly light, he turned to face her.

"I had trouble waking up. We're all tired after today."

"Mm," he said noncommitally.

"Sooo...you said you had something to show me?" He held up a book to the light.

"Yes. Now would you mind shining that somewhere other than my eyes?"

"Oh! Sorry." She shone the light elsewhere and approached him. "What have we got here?" He pressed the book into her hands and stood behind her with the flashlight, shining it over her shoulder so she could read. "...This is one of Hannah's journals."

"Yes. Some of her memories were not her own, as you may recall, and I suspect they came from those that she was created from."

They read.

"...She remembers my sorcery."

"Yes," James breathes in her ear. "And I thought it might be of help."

"The only thing that will help me—the only advice that's here is: 'Learn from the Sea Witch.' What Sea Witch do we know?"

"What of that witch Sparrow knows?"

"Tia Dalma? Naw, she's more a mystic than a witch, isn't she?"

"Then that means she will be more knowledgeable and thus be of more help to you; mystic or not, she's all we've got."

"Is it really so important that I have to learn all of this? I mean, yeah it might be of some convenience, but I'm liking my life the way it is, you know?"

James reached over her shoulder to turn the page. The next sheet was blank, however, but for a single statement. "'Prepare; a great storm is fast approaching,'" he read.

"Oh."

"Apparently it is."

"Er..."

"It sounds like a war more than anything," he commented somberly.

"Then...?"

"Then we must go and see this Tia Dalma as soon as possible."

She held up a finger, looking like she wold agree. "Yeeeehh—no. See, if I disappear again, my parents are gonna kill me. I propose: we go home to my place, work on this a little on our own, give me some time to give Jack a call, and if we have to go, give me some time to think up a good excuse to give my parents, and take a trip to your place, 'kay?"

"Sounds like a plan. Acceptable," he nodded. They both felt better with a plan.

"Cookies for me!"

"Not now. Now, we must work on your concentration, Miss Short-Attention-Span." Geeze, even current sarcasm was rubbing off on him.

"I can focus when I'm motivated."

"You're hyper."

"I'm tired. I get hyper when I'm tired."

His eyebrows rose. "You really are a strange one."

"I was. Now I'm even stranger."

"Perhaps." They were silence for a few moments. "It is time we experimented."

"Hai."

"We're going to have to be creative tonight, just for an idea of what to do."

"Okay."

He thought for a few moments. Had to think of something where any malfunction would not be life threatening. "That pillow," he pointed. "Let us see what you can make it do."

"Do?"

"You were able to make that swirler ("Spinner," Amy corrects him.) do as you willed. Try to do something along the same lines with that pillow."

"Er...okay..." She stared intensely at said small cushion.

"Focus," he encouraged her.

After several minutes, the pillow managed to flop over and fall to the floor. "Er..."

"How was that focus?"

"I was focusing, I'll tell ya."

"Hmm. Then I wonder what the problem is."

"Doubt."

"Humm?"

"Doubt," the teenager repeated. "I just can't believe I can do any of this. I mean, we only just 'found out' about this today. It hasn't been absorbed yet. I can't take it in."

"Ah. Perhaps I was a bit hasty in my assumptions."

"Maybe."

"All right," he sighed. "We're done for tonight. You go and get some sleep."

"Oh, okay." She hugged him. "G'night," she bid sleepily, taking back the flashlight and heading up to bed.

"Good night..."

————

The next morning found Amy up earlier than the rest, getting out the breakfast foods, and surprisingly awake. "Good morning, James," she greeted him before she saw him.

"Morning, pet."

"Sleep well?"

"Aye, and you?"

"Yup." she continued setting up the breakfast items. "I talked to Jack last night."

"You both are still connected?"

"Evidently."

"And...?"

"He's in the middle of something, but he says he'll be more than happy to pay a visit to _her_ when he's finished."

"All right. Did he mention how long his plundering would take?"

"Plundering? Who said anything about plundering?" James' eyebrows rose. "He's leading a liberation movement on the island of Lusee."

"Sparrow? Of all people..."

"See? Even Jack has his good. It's just hard to see sometimes. ...Maybe it's in his toe."

James chuckled. "So that's why he can't walk straight half the time," he played along. "It's because his toe is disagreeing with the rest of him."

She laughed. "Look look! James made a funny!" James facepalmed. "Yeah, I'm weird. Get over it, love. Now eat some breakfast and get to returning everything you borrowed, okay?"

"Oh right," he looked down at his apparel. He had felt nothing but guilt at having to borrow clothing. But it had warmed him—both literally and metaphorically—that another man had been willing to lend them to him. However, foreign as they were to him, he would be glad to get back into his own clothes.

It was hard to believe it had only been a weekend—with everything that had happened, it felt more like it had been a week. However, the adventure was not over. After breakfast, the group went on one last ride through Center City, the clean, downtown neighborhood of the city. It was to be a nice walk around the area to see a bunch of the sculptures that were built outside. James was intrigued by many of them—such as the thirty-foot clothespin—seeing as the abstract art was not a style he was accustomed to.

Finally, it was back to the base to pack and clean up. Up in the girls' room, Amy was busy cramming everything into her small suitcase. However, as usual, she had over-packed and could not fit everything in. _Hmm... If I could make it smaller, it would be a lot easier. Oh well_, thought she with confidence, _I can make it fit. I always do._ And she spent her efforts and focus on making it all fit. (Naturally the idea of folding all the clothing did not occur to her.) Now all that needed doing was to put her final plan into action. She set to writing the note.

A couple of hours later, everyone piled into the vans and left. James was now in another van, since he had been sitting on the floor, and said other van had an open seat. It was the boys' van, but also driven by Scott. Amy's prayers went with him. (XP)

The two organization members went up through the rooms to make sure everything was as it should have been. Kris, checking the girls' bunk, discovered something on a bed. It was an iPod, hooked up to speakers and a note, which read: _'This system is brand new and unused. If at all, please donate it. If it cannot be donated, please sell it at a high price and donate the money. G-d bless, -Captain's Angel.'_

————

Traffic was slow, as always, getting out of the city. Thus, James was taken by surprise once they hit the Turnpike and started on sixty miles per hour. It made him nervous to be moving so quickly, and he unconsciously began to fidget with his hat. "So, uh, dude," one of the boys began," like, what's up with the costume?"

"Oh this? I'm a part of an anachronism group." the word was foreign to them. "Reenactment."

"Oh," they chorused. "That's cool. What kind of stuff do you reenact?"

His eyes gleamed. "Ship battles."

"Cool." "Sweet." "Dude, that rocks!" "Awesome!"

So, he passed the time by telling them stories about some of his favorite victories.

Simultaneously, Amy was staring blankly out a window, lost in daydreams.

Before one knew it, the hour-and-a-half ride was coming to an end. The vans pulled into the parking Aton Presbyterian Church, thus finally ending the trip, and everyone unloaded. "All right," Todd turned to Ellie upon picking her bag. "Let's go." She led him the mile or so to her house. Picking up a small decorative turtle at the back door, she opened a secret compartment on its underside and removed a key, unlocked the door, and replaced said key and turtle. She opened the door and led inside. "Stay here. I'm gonna go find me parents and tell them what's up."

"Okay."

"Okay," she nodded, setting down her things, and set off. "Mom? Dad? I'm home!" She found them in the dining room at the front of the house. "Hey, guys!" They all hugged.

"So? How was it?" her mother asked.

"It was really interesting. I'll tell you more later, er... I need to tell you something important, first."

"Oh. Okay."

"See...you remember how Jack Sparrow and James Norrington brought me back after I went missing?"

Silence. "Commodore Norrington showed up and you brought him home, didn't he?"

"You're good, Mom."

"Nah, Scott called Friday night and told us."

_Traitor_, she thought insincerely. "Oh. Well then, that's one less apology for me."

"We're gonna set up the fold out bed from the couch."

"Just the couch would be fine, Madam," came a voice. James had heard them talking (it isn't such a large house, after all) and assumed it was all right to come in. "I do hope my stay here will not be a burden."

"It's all right. The house seems empty with only three people."

"Only? Was there a fourth?"

"My sister. She's away at college." She mentally winced at the thought of her older sibling.

"Well, you had better go and unpack," her father told her. "And while you're at it, work on your room."

The girl really _hadn't_ changed. "Commodore—."

"Please. Just call me James."

"Well, James, how are you at cooking?"

"In my time, I might have considered myself an adequate chef."

"Well, I'm going to need some help with dinner tonight."

"I'd be happy to lend a hand," he smiled.

So, while he did that, Amy trudged up to her room with her bag. She removed anything that wasn't clothing and dumped the rest directly into the washer, and started the machine. What else? _'Work on your room.'_ Looking around at the clutter, she sighed before perking up as an idea came to her. For about ten minutes, she picked up the books that had fallen from her overstuffed bookshelf, then called it quits. _Yay loopholes_, she thought to herself, for in fact her father had only told her to work on it, not actually clean it like she knew he meant. She left just in time to be called down to set the table and unload the dishwasher...not necessarily in that order.

Half an hour later, dinner was set out on the relatively small eating-room table (the dining room was only used for special occasions, such as thanksgiving).

————

"Have you given any thought to the believability of my theory?" James asked as they sat in the den later that evening, in front of the fireplace.

Amy shrugged. "I dunno. It makes a lot of sense...Yet at the same time, it's 'Greek to me.'" She shook her head. "I don't know _what_ to think."

"I am only here so long as you need my help."

"'A great war is coming,' don't you remember that? I'm going to have to believe all this stuff in order to be ready for that. I'll be made to believe somehow or other... So I'm definitely gonna need you." There was a long silence, broken only by crackle of flames. "James...I don't want to be in a war...I really don't...," she confessed softly.

James breathes deeply and turned away, absorbing himself in the fire burning on the hearth. _It is hard to make an unwilling soldier fight._ The flames danced before his eyes, as if to mock him somehow. _But there has to be a way._

_...There just has to.

* * *

_

Oki, so...there ya go. Sorry for any typos. I know it's inconvenient, but I'm not in the mood to edit. Sorry again. Anywho, like I said, next chapter almost finished, but mates, I've got to be honest with ye...I'm losing my will to write this story. I no longer have a plot for it, no longer have a spark to keep me going. I'm not sure what it is. Oh well, PSSAs next week(endish) so I'll have some extra time to write and think things out. Fin is gonna be deleted, for those of you who care.

So yeah, review, inspire me to keep going and get some actual action in here. Cuz you want it. I want it. Need inspiration. And ideas. So leave them in reviews. Please.


	9. Summons

OMG! Who has seen the Pirates 3 trailer? IT IS BEEPING AWESOME! For those of you who haven't seen it, but want to, I know ohjohnny(dot)net has one of those PotC3 trailer-viewing things that one can get from KeeptotheCode and post on their websites or in their blogs. And such. So, I was going to update last night as a present because of said fantastic trailer, but I was sooooo tired, and so I decided to update this morning instead. Yeah, I have the trailer playing on repeat right now. I have it memorized, mostly. n,n

o.o And I officially have a plot for this. It turns out my plot bunnies have been hiding under the couch. But now they have joined together like the pirate lords from the four corners of the Earth must, and have become one giant plot-kraken. This story is going on. And with a will!

Oh, and for the record, given what seems to be going to happen in said third, this story and its prequel are now officially Alternate Universe. I had hoped otherwise, but...well...yeah.

REVIEWS! Thanks fer 'em. Praise be to:

**DestinysWay114:** Oops, guess I don't need ideas yet after all. Sent your chapter to you a bit ago. Happy day.

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Of course it is a good disclaimer. My only problem now is working a disclaimer into the lines of the trailer. -squee-

**TheDreamChild:** Thanks for the good ideas—and they were good—but, as you have read, the plotbunny lords from the four corners of the imagination have joined together.

**EvilChibiHikari:** Ahh, at last someone who appreciated dear Jamesie. Thank you very much for that.

**ArmoredSoul:** Wow...Invader Zim plus You equals Crazy. NEAT! Yeah, James can make a funny once in a while...

**Stormwake:** You were right. It came to me. I had originally been thinking of using this for another story, but it fit in...so well. Chapter ten, though, is where that ties in. So you'll have to wait.

**Authoressinhiding:** Maybe one day I shall rewrite it and actually make it decent. But until then, exported it shall stay. Yeah, James can cook. The old fashioned style, of course, but cooking is cooking, I guess. Ever get to see the trailer? It owns.

**Eternal Silver Flame:** The year was in fact unmentioned. January 2005 is when it begins. The war...I have not decided yet. It takes place in all realms, and all realms must unite as one in a sense (and not I'm not saying that because of the trailer) Reality will twist. And all life as we know it may cease to exist. Unless the war can be won by those who wish to protect the living. However, it will happen in one of the future sequels. And I hope to make it epic. I'll have a trailer out eventually. Thanks for the review.

**Disclaimer:** (do not read if you don't want spoilers)  
There was a time...when a writer was free to make her own way in the world. ...But our time...is coming to an end. ...Our enemies have united, and vowed to destroy us... The writing lords from the four corners of the Earth... must stand together, and claim their freedom.  
—But until then, all hail the mouse, eh?

**Chapter Nine:** **Family Life and Summons**

Monday, Amy's mother burst into her room. "Why aren't you up yet? You're late for school!"

Amy propped herself up on an elbow, watching amusedly. "What, Mom, did you sleep through the phone call at six this morning? It's a snow day."

Her mother, her wonderful, flustered, just-woken-up mother, stood there for about a minute before closing her mouth with an "Oh." Amy laughed. "Well, sorry for waking you up."

"It's all right. I was about to get up anyway." Her mother left to go back to sleep—an anti-morning person—and the lass kicked away her blanket and rose. She navigated skillfully, effortlessly, through the disaster that was her bedroom, her twelve-by-twelve box, and floated down the carpeted steps to the den. James was sitting by, idly reading one of the various books from her bookcase which he had swiped the previous night. It was one of the pirate books—they were the only ones that weren't filled with things he did not understand. "'Good morning to you! Good morning to you! With bright yellow cobras...'" she sang in greeting.

He winced, looking up at her. "Cobras, pet? Where did that come from, dare I ask?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. It's Jeff corwin."

"Who?"

"I'll show you later. Have you had breakfast yet?"

"I've had some of that cereal. Is that all right?"

"It's fine. That being said, it's time you saw the reason for which I know all about you." And with the ease of experience, she turned on the flat screen television and popped a certain disc into the DVD player. "Like all the fanfictions dictate," she added in an undertone.

"What was that, Amy?

"We're watching a play, mate." She hit Play. "Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show." She closed the blinds most of the way for a dimming effect.

The movie began to play, and for the next two and a half hours, both were nearly silent. And Ames used all her willpower not to say the lines with the movie, nor even mouth the words. James, on the other hand, said some of his own lines as he watched himself say them, remembered himself saying those exact words exactly as they were being said.

The credits rolled. "This...Jack Davenport. He's not bad."

"No, he's not,' she agreed.

"So, then...this has been shown around the world?"

"Yes."

"Then that means I am famous?" he sounded worried.

"Infamous, actually. See, everyone (or nearly everyone) who is a fan of the movie—_play—_sees either Jack or Will as their favorite or as the hero. They are the main characters, after all. You, being a secondary character in this view of the tale, are not as easily recognized nor remembered. _And,_ since you were the one who was after 'mister-hero-Jack and/or Will', people see you as more of a villain, right along with Barbossa."

A worried look now became troubled. "...Oh..."

"But," she continued cheerfully, rising, "I think everyone shall change their opinions about you, given that these rumors I've heard about the sequel are true."

"Oh yes, you did mention there was a sequel..."

"Will be," she corrected him. "It hasn't come out yet."

"Ah."

"So, half of our morning being gone, what do you want to do?"

"I had hoped at giving the whole Sorcery concept one more try."

"But how can I do something if I don't believe I can?"

"Let's see...you made music become real, made a little white box appear" ("iPod," Amy interjected.) "made the spinner stop where you wanted it to, and even with all your doubt, managed to move a cushion, if only a little. It's a wonder that you don't believe in this yet. You have even got Hannah's diary to back up the evidence. One more try, pet? For me?"

Hearing someone else say it sparked an excited and determined flame inside of her. "You're right. I can _so_ do this."

"Keep the efforts to a pillow for now, pet."

"Okay!" While she was still in that supercharged state of mind and being, she directed her attention to one of the pillows on the couch. After a few tense moments, it quivered and...flopped over onto the floor. Then it stood on one end and hopped around in a lazy circle like some rodent on drugs before lying flat and moving no more. "Er..."

"Better than before," he applauded quietly, since her father was still within hearing distance (which was pretty much anywhere in the house, actually). "And hopefully a boost to your confidence?"

"Well...it proves I can do something, and I guess a certain state of mind can be attained to smother the doubt that still remains." His eyebrow quirked subtly. "You understand; that doubt where you can hardly believe something, even when it's happening. Right?"

"Oh yeah," he bobbed his head. They continued their efforts.

(The author shall now take time to describe Amy's family. Her father, Gordon, was sixty, elderly to some but a child at heart. He had worked as a chemical engineer for a big company for thirty-six years before his job was removed with budget cuts, forcing him into an early retirement. Now, though, he works at home as a consultant for other engineers.

Her mother, Louise, works as a church organist, choir director, and director of music ministries at her Lutheran church. She also attended the Lutheran Theological Seminary of Philadelphia.

Her sister, Diane, twenty-three, was currently going to college. Her third college, at that, but do not make the mistake of assuming that is it because she excelled. But we shall not go into problems Amy has picked out about her sister. Instead of using the completely unnecessary and long explanation the authoress had previously written with a passion, a reader may assume that she is simply not fond of her elder sibling.

Back to the subject, let us turn to her relationship with her parents. Most teenagers her age would think (or already do) that she is crazy to want to be able to spend time with them. She and her mother are especially close and think very similarly. They share thoughts and observations, and notice some things at the same time. They even finish one another's sentences every once in a while, and commonly take the words right out of each other's mouth. Amy and her father share intelligence and activity, often doing some project together, or going out to do something active, such as tennis or bowling or even just hopping from rock to rock down the stream in the park.

There is also a cat. There was once also a guinea pig and the two had been friends before said rodent died in her sleep one night the previous spring. Now, Zoë, a tortoiseshell shorthair mix adopted several years ago at the local SPCA, was the only pet, and Amy's closest non-human friend, provided that Jack counts as being 'human.'

This is Amy's family.)

The day wore on, and more snow came, ensuring a second snow day, and another morning to sleep in, as much as a morning person the girl claimed to be. However, even four in the morning was stretching it a bit. _"Amy..."_ called a voice as she slept. She creased her brow and groaned. _"**Amy**..."_ She grumbled to herself. Her parents usually used that as confirmation for whatever they were saying, anyway. _"Amy!"_

"What, whaddoyouwant?" she mumbled into her pillow.

"_It's Jack, love, say something."_

Her eyes snapped open with an "Oh." _"Sorry, Jack, I was only sleeping."_

"_Sorry about that, love. It _is_ late."_

"_Can I help you with something?"_ She sensed his fading excitement. _"How goes the liberation of Lusee?"_

"_It went flawlessly. That tyrant governor shall govern no more!"_ He eagerly opened his memory for her to see his little adventure.

"_Good for you,"_ she yawned.

"_Sorry, luv, am I boring you?"_

"_No, no, I'm just sleep deprived is all. Anywho, I assume you did not disturb my slumber merely to inform me of your victory, did you?"_

"_Actually, I did. Because in doing so, that means that I am finished there and on my way to visit Tia Dalma for you. I should be there by week's end."_

"_Oh, okay. Thanks for letting me know. 'Night."_

"_Sweet dreams, darling,"_ he bid her, pulling out of her mind.

_That's good news,_ she thought to herself sleepily, before deciding to get up. It was five by now, Jack's recounting of his adventure having taken nearly an hour. So it was too late to go back to sleep, according to her internal clock. She was fully awake now, anyway. She dressed warmly and bundled up, slinking down the stairs. The den was dark, James having discovered the joys of sleeping in. Picking up a house key, she hit the button on the remote for the automatic garage door, flipped on the outdoor lights, and went out to shovel the driveway. After a good while, James appeared beside her with the other shovel, helping her. Neither spoke. They just worked in silence, frantically working to keep warm. The lass was actually beginning to sweat in her horse farm winter coat and long undergarments. However, she was beginning to worry about James, clad only in his Caribbean-weathered Navy uniform. When she saw him trying in vain to shake the numbness out of his fingers, she deemed it time to take a break. The drive was mostly done, anyway (six inches was a lot of snow to shovel!) and the walk wouldn't take very long.

She led him inside, and both sighed at the warmth. "It'll be a shock," she said, shedding her coat and pushing up her sleeves, "but if you wanna get the feeling back in your hands any faster, put them under your shirt on your stomach." She left to go make some hot chocolate—yet another delicacy she had to introduce to him—but she managed to still hear him trying not to gasp as cold skin touched warm. She returned with the warm mugs, and he received his gratefully. She took a sip of the beverage and sputtered. Too hot; she'd scalded her tongue. "Every time!" she grumbled, wiping up with a napkin.

"So why were you up so early this morning?"

"Oh, I almost forgot (no, not really). Jack called me really early this morning—well, early for me," she reasoned as James' eyebrows rose. "Anywho, he's on his way to Tia Dalma's. He says he should be there by the end of the week. He also says to tell you 'hi.'"

"Ah." James smiled for an instant. "And how did his 'revolution' turn out?"

"Oy, he spent like almost an hour describing it to me. They won. The 'tyrant governor' has been removed from the picture. Lusee is a republic now."

"I suppose that must be good news, then."

"Yerp."

The week went on. When it came time for Amy to go to school, James kept busy studying his mother's diaries—yes, the plural, for he kept several with him—as well as helping out around the house, doing random chores all over. He washed and dried dishes (lacking the knowledge concerning a dishwasher), swept up, even learned the ways of the phone and started taking phone calls. He became a convenience to Amy's father—who was both the 'family taxi service' for his daughters and his aging parents, and also had to keep his job as consultant. He also did a lot of volunteer work with Aton Pres. and other such odd jobs, and his youngest daughter often wondered where he found the time to get everything done. The man was a saint, to put things lightly. Thus, Norrington must be a great help. That aside, one gets very bored when cooped up and doing only one thing all the time. The only thing he did not touch was the lass's room. For some reason, it angered her whenever someone other than herself cleaned it up, or so she had warned him.

Now it was Friday evening. Ames, James, and Mrs. Xyphir were at a horse farm for the teenager's weekly lesson. She brought out a black and white Appaloosa/flea-bitten gray thoroughbred/quarter horse mix gelding. His name, predictably, was Pongo. She had been riding him for quite some time, and she knew all his little quirks. The two were close. The lesson went, James observing in almost wonder at how similar it was to move with a horse as it was to move with a ship. She barely bounced in the saddle through Pongo's smooth, ground eating canter. The ring was indoors, sheltered from the wind, but often in the winter, it felt colder inside than out. James strangely wasn't cold, however. It was a group lesson, and everyone was under the age of thirteen save for Amy. But she was one of the most advanced in the class (the group was composed of riders of all different levels) and she would have leased and gotten private lessons if she had the time, or the mind to make a future for herself in equestrian.

Now, she was waiting for her turn to jump individually. She and Pongo watched the less-experienced riders trot messily over the low jumps. And then..._ "Well, luv, I'm here."_ Jack had made it.

Amy reacted, and the gelding's ears flicked back at her apprehensively as he sensed something was amiss. _"Ican'ttalkrightnowJackI'monahorse,"_ she thought back to him as quickly as possible, giving the horse a reassuring pat on the neck. Either in understanding or bewilderment, the pirate pulled out of her mind. After the lesson, though, on the long car ride home, she re-opened their connection. _"So, you made it to Tia Dalma's, eh?"_

"_Yes,"_ Jack sounded somewhat startled. She caught a few passing thoughts of a conversation with said mystic.

"_Oh, sorry, did I interrupt something?"_

"_Oh, no, nothing important,"_ he thought back, and she got a sudden picture of Tia glaring at him. _"So—what did you need me to talk to her about?"_

And so she relayed the information and such to him to be relayed in turn to a waiting Tia Dalma. When she sensed an answer had been given, she ventured to ask: _"So what did she say?"_

"_She—wants you to come as soon as you can."

* * *

_

Right then. Now I'm off to go work on ideas for the war, even though I have no idea when it will take place. I also have math PSSA's today, to I'll have PLENTY of free time. Toodles.

Of course I'm mad. 'Otherwise, this prob'ly would never work.'

Kindly review.


	10. Finding PirateLand

Okay, so I've been getting a lot of work done! I probably should have updated a lot sooner, but hey, stuff happens. For me, it was being nominated to attend the Congressional/Global Young Leaders Conference. Gonna try to go for the latter. -smirk- It's the only way I'ma ever get out of this country! Anywho, the next two and a half chapters are done, too. Sweet.

Reviews! Thankee much, mates!

**TheDreamChild:** Dazed? I thought he looked regretful. (I'm all smiles for that) And I hear bad is exactly what is going to happen to poor Jamesiepoo. Which is why my story is now Alternate Universe (le sigh). Heehee, so yeah, I'll help. But not Jerry Bruckheimer, oh no. The writers would be the ones what done it, savvy?

**Authoressinhiding:** Same, same, but the two can't seem to stay apart, so it's either a happy ending for the two of them or heartbreak once again for dear William. WHY must May 25th be so long in coming!

**marauder4ever:** Oh, how did it go? Was it fun? Which one did you do? O.o Ehh...anyways, thanks for the review, and good ta have ya back!

**Little Miss Sparrow:** but but but YES. Oy. Do you think I wouldn't have? I went online at four in the morning after the trailer's initial debut and I'm like 'Holy $#&! A clip!' Lol. Maybe he will. Can't be sure until I write the next sequel.

**ArmoredSoul:** Happy for you? How could I not be! That's wonderful news! Congrats. Thanks for the review.

**Stormwake:** Yeah, I am, but I refuse to admit it other than just now. No, I didn't resort to banging me head against the keyboard. If I did, the chapter would look more like this:

eriuhv oirjr'rpbj

eiurg q;k3ltj wpe9urh wpothyoidrlkjitpaijklrt psieryhtjkq; htgioherkjbfho vayweibht oiwyrgB WPE Ipug h;stiygh QOWIEH'r; ipwufha oiUGO IUTGHAL IE Yg goyisug oy g

Savvy?

**Destinysway114:** You know, I really don't care if you log in or not. Oy. And I didn't use the wordswithoutspacing "a lot" in that chapter. I only used them once. And do you not recall how James in your play would become an ally? Or did you change that... OH NOS SPOILERS! Sowwy. Anywho, glad to know yer feelin' better.

**Molly:** I have ABSOLUTELY no idea what the beep you're talking about. O.o Oh, and for the record, had I not already seen the clip before you reviewed, you would have totally spoiled it for me and I would have never forgiven you for it. All you needed to ask was did I see the clip yet and I would have known what you meant. Seriously, Molls, this is ME we're talking about. OY!

**Disclaimer:** Disney: You're mad

Me: If I wasn't, this plot'd prob'ly never work.

**Chapter 10: Finding Pirate-Land**

"She wants me to get there as soon as possible."

"Really?"

"Yeh."

"Then you should go. Are you not free on the weekend?"

"Three problems. Firstly, I've got some stuff to do. Secondly, I need time to properly think up an excuse for my parents. And thirdly, I'm not sure I can get back. I mean, it had to be 'truest desire' and all that. I don't exactly 'truly desire' to go back, as it were."

"She said as soon as you can. So, once you can; get going."

"It may be another week yet."

"Then perhaps you should call on Jack again and alert him to the situation."

"Sure." Amy opened up her mind again, and could've sworn she heard James wondering what it was like to communicate the way she and the pirate could. _"It's fun in a strange way,"_ she thought to him halfheartedly. Even then, he looked surprised at her, but she wasn't paying attention. She was sitting in a tavern conversing over a pint. _"Er...Jack?"_ Jack blinked, as did her sight. She was looking through his eyes. It had happened occasionally other times when either of them opened up their connection a little too far.

Jack was—or rather had been—trying to explain to Gibbs why they had come to this island, when a serving wench walked by. He rose and followed her, beginning to flirt. _"Eyes up, Jack,"_ Amy snapped in his mind when she caught him looking where he shouldn't.

"Er...could you excuse me a moment?" he smiled charmingly, backing away and hastening smoothly to a table in the dark, empty corner where he sat by himself. _"As always, your timing is impeccable, luv."_

"_Well excuse me—."_

"_I'm serious." ("You?"_ Amy intervened.) _"If you had come maybe another five minutes later, you would have been scarred for life."_

"_Er..."_ she laughed nervously in his mind. _"That was lucky..."_

"_Is there something you need?"_ he asked irritably, annoyed at having been disturbed from his prior motives.

"_You can get back to your wench later,"_ she growled with disdain. _"Anywho, I need you to tell Lady Dalma that I may not be able to come for another week or so. There is some stuff I need to do and/or take care of, you know? So if you could get that to her a.s.a.p., I would be much where the heck are you?"_ she changed the thought mid-sentence.

"_On the next island over, a few hours' travel from Tia's shack. The men were against the idea of staying with her, so we came here."_

"_Oh. Well, anywho, could you tell her for me?"_

"_Sure thing, darling."_

"_Okay, thanks. Oh, and Jack?"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_Watch out for yourself. I have a bad feeling about this table you're sitting at."_

"_Er..."_

"_See you sometime soon, Jack."_ And she pulled out of his mind as quickly as she could. Moments later, there was a loud crash in the tavern, and all eyes turned to see several men dressed in black, even faces and eyes covered, carrying away an unconscious Captain Jack Sparrow. Even absent from the event, a cold shivering of foreboding traveled up Amy's spine.

"So were you able to talk your way out of a meeting for this weekend?"

"I don't know. I..." she hugged herself, "...I think something bad happened to Jack."

James didn't bother to ask questions just yet. Instead, he merely gathered her into his arms and held her. When he felt she had calmed, he ventured to ask; "Was that _your _voice I heard in my mind?"

"Er...yeah. Sorry about that. I opened up the connection a little too far."

"Really?"

"I guess. I don't really know how to put it to words, you know?"

"Aye." He thought a moment as they released one another. "Do you suppose...That perhaps you can speak with Tia Dalma in the same way that you did with me?"

She froze. "Say that again."

"That again," he grinned.

"'No, the other thing,'" she played along.

"'No the other thing.'"

"'No! What you said before when you—.'"

"'No! What you said before when you...'"

"'NEV-er mind, I have an idea!'"

"'NEV-er mind, I have an idea!'"

They both laughed. "All right, no more Spongebob. It's metaphorically rotting your brain."

"Fine," he shrugged indifferently.

"Anyway, could you repeat what you originally said?" He did. She froze again. "...Noch einmal, bitte? (Translation: one more time please?) I don't think I heard you correctly." He did again. "Ah...that's what I thought you said. I, uh...hadn't really given much thought to the concept."

"You did it to me without 'much thought'. All right, before we jump to conclusions, then, how about you try to talk to Jack again and find out from him what _really_ happened."

"Right, right, good idea." She took a deep breath to calm herself and reached out with her mind. The pathway now open, she called to him. But she found herself in darkness. _"Jack?"_ She sensed a flash of alarm, but no sense of consciousness to accompany it. Humming his theme in the hopes of comfort, she explored his unconscious mind. What she found was his memory. Opening it like a mental book, she saw what he had seen. In his last memory, he had seen several shadows on the table before him, cast from behind, and turned to meet the crash of something heard breaking against his head and a blinding pain, followed by the sensation of floating, and then nothing. She tried to look back and see who had done it, but the memory was already beginning to fade. Jack had lost his memory with the blow. "Oh no..."

"Amy?"

"It's Jack. Someone attacked him and he's lost his memory."

"Oh!"

"I'm going to try talking to Tia Dalma."

"Keep calm and you should be fine."

"I'll try me best." She hiccupped. "Let me rephrase that: I'll try my best later, when I calm down."

—Later—

She let out a breath with a _whoosh_, hiccups finally gone. "Okay..." She and James sat now on the couch, veiled in darkness. The lit the remote fireplace and wrapped the both of them in a maroon fleece blanket.

"Are you ready?" James asked.

She slid her hand into his and he gave it a comforting squeeze. Leaning her head on his shoulder, his other arm wrapping almost protectively around her, she nodded. "Yeah." She squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mind. There were so many presences...and most minds were closed to her intrusion. Eventually, though, a connection was made. _"Hello,"_ she began. _"Are you Tia Dalma?"_

"_No,"_ a thought replied. _"Are you one of those voices my doctor keeps talking about?"_

"_No. Sorry to bother you, thanks!"_ One mental patient down, trillions of others to go. Perhaps someone with wisdom... She reached out for the wisdom she envisioned Tia Dalma possessing. A great force emanating of erudition touched her mind. _"Excuse me, are you Tia Dalma?"_

She sensed a twinkle of knowing periwinkle eyes. _"No, my dear, I am Albus Dumbledore."_

"_Then I am in the wrong fandom. Thanks for the help."_ And so it continued... She tried again...

"_Sorry, this is Gandalf the White."_

...And again...

"_No, little one, I am Grandmother Willow."_

...And again...

"_I prefer to be called Iroh. I do not know this Tia Dalma. Is she nice?"_

...And again-again.

"_I am afraid, child, that you are in the wrong universe."_

"_Master Yen Sid, is it?"_

"_Yes."_

She connected the dots quickly. _"Is there not a world called Port Royal?"_ For once her obsession with the Kingdom Hearts sequel came in handy.

"_Indeed, you may find her in this universe after all. But the Port Royal in this universe may be very different from the one that you seek."_

He was right. _"Thank you so much."_ All right, so wisdom hadn't worked. She 'changed her frequency' to search for someone with a 'touch of destiny'. She was soon overcome by the sensation of falling. _"Who's there?"_

"_Naminé?"_ a voice asked.

"_Holy sbeep, it's Roxas! Sorrygottagobye!"_

And she kept on trying...

"_Max Bialystock at your service, how much are ya?"_

"_If you have to ask, you can't afford me,"_ she retorted. _"Whatever you do, **don't** let Roger DeBris play Hitler,"_ she warned him quickly as she moved on.

"_Ooo, a voice in my head."_

"_Yeah...sorry about that. Who are you, anyway?"_

"_Gordy."_

"_Gordy...the Janitor?"_ She sensed his conformation and mentally blinked. _"Gordy the Janitor, touched with destiny."_ There was a flash of excitement, then surprise and a weasel as she was pulled into another connection. Oddly, though, the mind was closed. She broadened the link as far as she thought it could go, and found herself once again looking through the eyes of another. The 'host' stiffened apprehensively, sensing that something was not as it should be. This was not Tia Dalma, she knew. But through the eyes, she was looking around at an all-too-familiar blacksmith shop. _"Hello?"_ The poor soul startled.

"Who's there?" She heard in the voice that this was a man. And just the man she was hoping for, too.

"_Hi, Will, remember me?"_

He looked around. "I might if I see you."

"_Please. Don't speak out loud; they'll think you're crazy."_ She giggled innocently in his mind. _"Didn't you meet a crazy girl not long ago?"_

"_Well yes, but..."_

"_Will. It's me. I'm in your head momentarily. Please, don't ask me how, I don't have the time nor energy to explain. Listen: Jack's been kidnaped. I need you to go to Tia Dalma and tell her exactly what I'm about to say—er, think, rather—okay? All right, good. Okay. I need you to tell her:..."_ And she told him what to say. _"Ah...how long do you think it will take you to get there?"_

"_With a good wind, four or five days."_

"_Oh, okay. Good sailing to you, then."_

"_You do realize I don't have a ship, don't you?"_

"_Oh..."_

"_But I can always try and find a way to barter passage."_

"_No, no. I'll just have to try for... Tia... (yawn)."_

"_You sound exhausted."_

"_I've been at this for hours. Mental communication drains one's energy."_

"_All right. Then take care of yourself. And good luck."_

"_Thanks,"_ she yawned again.

"_Keep me posted, if you can. Let me know if there is anything I can do."_

"_I will. Thanks." _She broke the connection, hopes rising now that she was in the right universe, but after that it was like searching through static. She was soo tired...but Jack was in danger, and she had to help in any way possible. Just as the static was becoming an unconsciousness, exhaustion setting in, her mind connected with another, and suddenly everything was clear. _"I'm...sorry to bother you,"_ she started tiredly, _"but are you Tia Dalma?"_

"_Yes...Amy Xyphir." _Without another thought, the lass passed forward all the important thoughts that needed saying in one jumble of consciousness. _"I know, child. And it is a grave t'ing that has happened to our dear Jack Sparrow. I shall not bother to explain at the moment—you have exhausted your energy with your efforts—but I shall tell you what has become of him."_ Even as her consciousness was fading, she still managed to hear words that would chill her soul for days and weeks. _"Jack Sparrow has been decomposed into his most basic emotions and personality traits. He has been scattered across worlds."

* * *

_

Ok, so there you go. The giant plot-kraken has now revealed the big plot twist. Next two chapters at least have been completed. Halfway through a third, too. Hope you liked it. Coming chapters will not be nearly as boring! (I hope).

I want at least ninety-nine reviews for this chapter. If it peaks 100, then the hundredth reviewer gets a not-prize! Fun, no?

Oh, and here's a random fact: Every time a shadow reader doesn't review, an author loses their will to write. SO REVIEW! DON'T BE A SHADOW READER!


	11. SwashSwashBuckleBuckle

Okay, so I've had this chapter done forEVER, and wouldn't ya know it, I forgot to update. Hey, it's Holy Week, cut me some slack. I would like to apologize for giving out false information. This story actually takes place in January 2006, not '05. Sorry for the mixup! Anywho, I can now see that asking for ten reviews a chapter is asking way too much... But for those of you who reviewed, thanks much!

**Destinysway114:** Well that was the idea. Did you recognize most of the characters? Shadow readers are a pain, aren't they? ;-;

**TheDreamChild:** I'll be sure to do that. And I agree, for one. Perhaps some day I'll write a fic about Luxord getting his heart and becoming Rould. O-O MINE!! Eheheh...my turn to be fangirly...

**Authoressinhiding:** PLOT KRAKEN AHOY! Thanks. Enjoy, mate.

**marauder4ever:** That sounds like a lot of fun! I can't believe I've never heard of it. Hmm...if they did that at my school I would soo audition...but seeing as it's a high school... o.o

**Stormwake:** You're a Gordy fan? ...I officially like you even more. Lol. "Crossover part or two?" Or three or four or twelve. I really haven't gotten around to thinking everything through. Eheh...riiight, I should get back to work then... ;-;

**EvilChibiHikari:** Haha, someone agrees! I mean...of all my friends, you can tell which ones watch the show: they're always quoting. ...Hmm, that tactic may come in handy when I take over the world ... o-o...

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Ninety-nine total, not just for that chapter, silly. Anywho, YOU ARE THE ONE-HUNDREDTH REVIEWER! CONGRATULATIONS!! What would you like as a 'prize'?( Love the math pun, love, but I AM the only genius in my school o-o ...Not to brag or anything...coughcough...0o...Seriously, I do algebra for fun. Eheheh...)

**Jess is a pirate:** '05, '06, same year, it felt like. I was confused. So sue me, yeesh. Also, the clips in the credits aren't always direct continuations of the plot. That was us seeing it after the second story is over. Creative license. I can put things out of order if I want, lol. "How did you know about Tia Dalma?" PotCDMC Trailer says 'hi'. Heheh. And ohjohnny(dot)net rumors and pre-production photos. You getting any of this yet? o-o

**Molly:** Where did ya go? You disappeared! I'm talking to air! Get your behind back here! Sorry I wasn't there on yesterday, by the way. It was Good Friday and I was obviously being busy. Rode this morning instead, and you know, I rode Princess! Oy! You know, she's gotten more difficult over the years. She now hates everybody, has a morbid fear of being in front, and doesn't like to listen when I steer (ok, so she was going where I wanted, just not all the time) and she doesn't neckrein. Oy. And I thought she was a lot smoother than that. O-O No! So yeah, come on back, will ya?

**Disclaimer: Disney 1:** With the wind at quarter astern, we won't catch them.  
**Disney 2:** We don't need to catch them, just get them in range of the long nines.  
**Disney 1: **Hands, come about! Run out the guns! We are to fire on our own franchise, sir?  
**Disney2: **I would rather see her at the bottom of the ocean than in the hands of an obsessive fangirl.  
**Authoress:** Muahaha...

**Chapter Eleven: Swash-Swash Buckle-Buckle**

The girl had fallen asleep in his arms. He thought he should wake her, but could tell how exhausted she was. Rest was the best thing for her right now, he knew. Still, a tremor of shock had gone through her just as she lost consciousness, and he couldn't get it out of his mind that something serious had happened. She would tell him in the morning, he decided.

The next morning found them asleep in one another's arms on the couch. Amy's mother chanced to be up early this day, having a morning wedding to play, and happened upon their positions. "What are you doing?"

James, being the light sleeper that he was, opened his eyes at her voice. "Good morn, Mistress Xyphir," he greeted her warmly, softly, somewhat groggily.

"What—?"

"Shh," he said gently, politely. "Might you have a mind to keep your voice down? She is asleep."

Louise looked no calmer, however she did comply. "What are you doing?" she demanded again.

He met her gaze, trying to cover the hurt in his eyes from bad memories with a cold indifference and failing due to lack of emotional wits (he _had_ just woken up). "I will never hurt your daughter as long as I live, Madam," he said with the dignified certainty of a promise.

"Oh I never meant—," she began to defend herself, composure regained immediately.

He cut her off. "Yes you did," he said softly, looking away. "But...I know you don't mean it..." She nodded. "Then why make the assumption if it is not sincere?" He looked up, eyes questioning.

"I'm just trying to watch out for my daughter," she decided at last. "I don't know you very well."

"She was a stranger when we first met," he said after a while, revealing cherished memory. "She trusted me right from the start, even when she didn't know me." He tenderly moved a strand of hair out of the lass's face. "She's like family to me. All I have, really. I could never hurt her—not in any way."

"Well...if she trusts you...then so do I." They met each other's gazes once more, this time with more respect, before Mrs. Xyphir caught sight of the clock. "Oh, geez, I've gotta go. I have a wedding to play," she explained as she rushed out the door.

He could have carried her up to bed the previous night, but, not knowing how heavy or light a sleeper she was, he hadn't wanted to disturb her. However, half an hour later, when the cat crept silently into the room, she awoke. "You make a good pillow, Ellie."

"You make a decent blanket yourself."

"What time is it?"

"Ah...wee bit past zero-eight-hundred hours." Military time. Should have known.

"Getting better with digital clocks, I see."

"Not that I was ever having a problem," he reminded her. "Besides, it is just as one writes it on parchment, so you said yourself."

"True, true." She yawned, sitting up and him with her, and stretching like a cat. Said cat jumped up onto the back of the couch, then climbed down to make herself comfortable against the now-warm pillow where the Commodore's head had just been. "Well good morning, Zoë," Todd greeted the feline. "Looks like she's really warmed up to having you around."

"Really?" James raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah. Usually she's really shy around strangers."

"Oh." He scratched the tortoiseshell behind the ears and she began to purr, eyes half-closed in contented slits. "I don't think it's her so much as it is me. I don't know. Cats have always liked me for some reason."

"Well she doesn't know any other cats, so it's all a mystery to me." She kissed her pet on the head—at which point said pet began to rub against her face—suddenly recalling that there was something important she needed to remember. "Fuff—_ptoo!_" she pulled away from Zoë, trying not to inhale or swallow a few clinging cat hairs. "Oh!" And she suddenly remembered what it was that she'd forgotten that she remembered she had to remember but had forgotten what it was she'd needed to remember. "James..."

He looked up, seeing sadly that her good mood had suddenly spoiled. "Yes?"

"About Jack..." There was a pause. "I need to speak with Tia Dalma again."

"You were able to reach her last night?"

"Yes."

"You worked yourself to sleep last night. Are you sure you can find her again?"

"I'm sure I can find her again." At least the doubt was gone. "Come with me," she said suddenly.

"What, how?"

"...Trust me..."

He hesitated, fearing for his recently-regained sanity. Then... "All right." She reached out for his mind, almost as if mentally reaching for his hand, and they connected.

Now that she had finally made contact with the mystic the previous night, she searched for that _presence_ she had sensed. A window was quickly opened. _"Good mornin', chil',"_ a now-familiar voice greeted her.

"_Ohaiou gozaimasu, Sensei,"_ Amy greeted her with a mental bow.

"_Amy..."_ Oh yeah.

"_Right. Tia Dalma, this is James Norrington. James, meet Tia Dalma."_

"_It is a pleasure to finally meet you,"_ he said politely with a sweeping bow.

"_Yes, Commodore. I have been waitin' ta meet you for quite some time."_ Amy sensed his confusion.

"_Former Commodore, actually."_

"_No."_ They both mentally snapped their eyes up to meet hers._ "I see a pardon in store for you."_ James was surprised. _"Now why didn' ya come, child?"_

"_Well I was actually asking Jack to tell you that right before he..."_ Without another thought, she spilled why she couldn't be there in person.

"_It is true that truest desire is needed to move from one world to the nex'. But ya have that desire."_

Ames mentally raised her eyebrows. _"Beg pardon?"_

"_You want save Jack Sparrow, yes?"_

"_Yes. More than anything_," she said fiercely.

"_Ta save him, you must come here."_

Something clicked. _"Kind of like Jack's compass...One can manipulate their means of finding what they want in order to find something else."_

Wise eyes gleamed in their minds. _"You are a smart girl. I see Jack was not exaggeratin' for once. Go, child. Write a note for ya parents an' come see me. Here, you will learn what you will need in order ta save ya horse. Bring the Guardian,"_ she instructed.

"_Guardian? What do you mean?"_

"_James...Norrington,"_ her voice was beginning to fade. The connection broke, and she added in the void silence, _"...Guardian of the Realm."_

Once again in Amy's den, the two suddenly came alive, scaring the heck out of the cat, who raced away at top speed, tail fluffed to thrice its girth. Amy rushed up to her room and dug through her closet until she found her pirate gear from her last visit. She opened the hidden box in one corner and picked up her sword. It was still just as sharp as ever, and she admired it in the sunlight filtering in through the window before adding it to her belt.

The sun shown brightly outside, gleaming off the unplowed streets (due to parked cars). She had an idea. "See ya, Dad, I'm going to the Caribbean," she called to her father in the next room.

"All right, make sure you're home by dinner," he replied distractedly, obviously not paying attention (and thank G-d).

She glided down the steps and found James, all of his few belongings stuffed back into his pockets, borrowed clothes folded in a neat pile under the cat. "Hey James..."

"Hmm?" he looked up from his wig, trying to decide whether to bring it or leave it.

"I think I shall be needing some practice before we go," she said, patting the hilt which rested at her hip.

He nodded his understanding and they took their things out front. "I won't be going easy on you," he said reassuringly, shedding his coat in anticipation of the heat of the battle. The wig he chucked as far as it could go (and by G-d he should throw for the Eagles!).

"I know. And don't expect _me_ to go easy on _you_ either. Still rooting for you, though, mate." He laughed. True, she had actually been practicing (as much as her tiny bedroom would allow), and she was just itching for a fight.

"This should be interesting," he purred, drawing his sabre and rocking into a fighting stance.

She drew her own cutlass and took up a similar pose. "Yeah." The snow was firm, holding either of them up, and not slippery. Perfect.

Seeing how she was in fact out of practice, she would have to sit back and wait for him to make the first move. In the blink of an eye he lunged at her, and she parried readily before dodging out of range, forcing him to follow. She continued like this for nearly a circuit of the front yard before he piped up, "You know, on a ship you wouldn't have the room for such mobility."

"I know," she parried his next strike. "I'm just warming us up." Even with a lack of action, the clang of sword on sword was drawing a few people from the warmth of their homes. "We have an audience, it seems."

"Then we should entertain them." His eyes gleamed.

She struck, he parried, and they exchanged blows before she suddenly ducked and rolled, jumping to her feet to thwart his next strike. His next was much more forceful and she chose to dodge, but his momentum did not throw him off balance as it had with Will, and she had to sweat to avoid a volley of hits. Their movement was bringing them near the magnolia tree, so she observed with a momentary sideward glance, (Sometimes it pays to be so randomly observant) and an idea came to her. She jumped up, catching a branch as she parried again, and swung up out of reach. He backed away to assess the situation, but before he could get far, she sprang from the tree, coming at him from above, blade at the ready. He leaned back so as they wouldn't bump heads, bringing his sword up quick to block. She pushed off it with her own, flipping and landing steadily in time to parry his next blow. Some of their small audience cheered—others gasped.

They exchanged blows, movements fluid like an intricate dance. She ducked his next blow, leaning far back. Were it a movie, she was sure time would have slowed and everything would have seemed very Matrix-like. He jumped over her next swing, meriting applause. He admitted it; she wasn't bad for a beginner. She was using her disadvantages and manipulating them in her favor, and made his own advantages less advantageous. ...She was still no match for him, though. Even so, she was being creative, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. When he hid himself in the fir, she backed out of reach instead of trying to pinpoint his location. Still, her judgement was somewhat off as she wasn't entirely out of his range. In half a moment, he had scaled said tree and jumped from a high branch, rocketing toward her as he had learned to do on a ship with an available mast. His dive took on a spin, making it harder to predict where he could come down, and so fast that it would be impossible to avoid. She parried his blade, though the force threw her back, and as she was finding a footing, the snow suddenly collapsed beneath her, ensuring slower footwork. He rushed at her as she tried to find footing, but instead of sword meeting sword, he stopped in his tracks, snow covering his face. The cold momentarily stunned him, and he had to really move to parry a powerful strike on the girl's part. However, her footwork was no longer as steady now. With each parry or blow, she was losing more and more composure. And she knew it. Footing becoming less certain, her blows came now in endless volleys, and all James could do was parry and wait for an opportunity to present itself.

She was tiring, however, from lack of practice and conditioning, and her fighting partner seemed as fresh as when they had begun. She drew back for a powerful blow and immediately realized her mistake: she had left herself wide open. Any closer and his sabre would have been too long to catch a decent hit, but now... She brought her cutlass back as fast as she could for a parry, but his already-cast strike knocked it from her grasp, and her self to the ground. She winced as her hands scraped against the frozen ground, and when she next opened her eyes, she was staring down the gleaming blade of the match's victor, who looked down at her friendily (A/N: yes, I'm making up words. But hey, so did Shakespeare o.o ). He grinned and extended a hand and helped her up.

"My boy, you look dashing with the face of victory as your own," she said proudly. Proud of him though this really wasn't any match for him—and proud of herself for having lasted as long as she had against one of the most skilled fighters in all the Spanish Main and possibly even the whole Royal Navy. They shook hands and took their bows, 'audience' applauding.

"Not bad for being out of practice."

"Thanks!" They thanked the neighborhood, Amy proudly refusing the offered money (though had it been Jack instead of James, it would have been a different story; she was sure she would have passed a hat around. She was always thinking of ways to profit or benefit from any situation. ...Pirate...), and returned inside, James' hand familiarly on her shoulder. "Well, time to go, I guess."

"Aye."

She left the note on the eating room table where someone was bound to find it and now stood with James in the den, hand in hand, composing themselves. "Okay," she let out her breath in a whoosh. "Let's do this." They filled their thoughts with what they 'desired.' _"Jack is my friend. I have to help him. I'll do anything. I need to go back to his world and find out what I can do, **please...**,"_ she thought strongly in her own mind.

"_Allow me to go with her,"_ James asked simply. Long moments passed. ...He blinked and saw a familiar twinkle of turquoise. "Amy." He nudged her gently. "Look." A sort of doorway or window or opening that even the authoress cannot find a name for, composed of said gentle light, had appeared. _Thank you for helping her_, he thought to whatever it was that had allowed this.

"James?" her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Are you coming?"

"In a heartbeat, pet," he smiled, and together they walked through the portal. Instantly, they were surrounded by light, and then...the sensation of falling. Falling, falling, and a sudden thought struck James: how would they survive the landing? Jack had said that the lass had fallen from the sky on her first visit. She had hit the water, which should have killed her, but she had climbed aboard unscathed. Would the same happen this time? What if something went wrong? Well...there was no going back now. He would have to wait and find out. The light brightened to a blinding white and grew brighter still, until he could not see his own arm, hand clasped with that of the lass, whom he also could not see. Falling, falling, falling...and then...

...Everything went black...

* * *

All right, there you go. Next two chapters are complete, and then I'm taking a break to work on Fears.

So ten reviews was too much for all of you, huh? Well...what about nine? Please? _Please?_


	12. Details Details

Ahmg! So it's been like over a month and still no updates! AHHH! And I've had this chapter done forEVER too! But...I forgot. Seriously. And then whenever I remembered, I wasn't in a very updating mood. -sweatdrop- So, here's a chapter, extree long for all of you faithful readers out there! And I changed the title to something a little more relevant (at least slightly), for those of you wondering...

HOLY COW! You guys actually reached the 10 review mark! EXTRA RUM FOR ALL!

Praise:

**Authoressinhiding:** Yeeeeehhhh, I figured you'd squee when you saw it. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and hope you will enjoy this chapter as well.

**EvilChibiHikari:** Actually, I'd prob'ly do the same, but somehow I think it feels pretty safe when you're going like that. -shrug- I dunno how to put it to words. Anyway, your reviews have been much appreciated.

**Jess is a pirate:** :O IMPOSSIBLE! Oh wait, no that's improbable. My bad. -sweatdrop- Anywho, you're coming up in two chapters. Stop complaining. Jeez. ...lol -huggles-

**Destinysway112:** -eyebrow quirk- Rabid bunnies? ...I won't ask. Yeah, people seem to like that scene. Funny thing is, I know next to nothing about fencing. Who woulda thought?

**TheDreamChild:** Will do, mate. Will do. Poor Inwë -pats head- We'll get Lizzie one day.

**Little Miss Sparrow: **"I wouldn't even know how to start writing one, seeing as I know nothing about fencing or anything of the sort." You know...I know absolutely nothing about it either. Heck, most of the stuff is probably impossible to do. All I did was observe the PotC fight scenes (notice the lack of cannon fights—now THOSE I can't write for my life...then again, I've never tried...) and then added a little bit of Captain MeraSparrow and occasionally some anime and there you go: a sword fight. -grin-

Brownies? Are you sure you don't want one of these limited-edition extremely annoying Jack headvoices? Or and even rarer JAMES headvoice. Have your favorite characters talking in your head. Oh? -shrugs- Ok. -emails brownies-

**marauder4ever:** Hmm...people seem to like those scenes... Thank you for your review! -bows-

**Stormwake:** Actually, methinks my neighbors would be the same. Well, not 'royal snobs', but someone would be pounding on the door for my parents. You know. All responsibly irresponsible. This? Your favorite fanfic? I'm flattered! -hugs and hands rum- Then I hope I continue to please!

**SamanthaSparrow:** SAM! COOL IT! You find out what happens in this chapter, silly!

**ArmoredSoul:** Oh dear is right. O.O ...But LUCK-IL-Y, you'll get to see what happens next in this chappie! (Hey that rhymes!) ...wow...I'm a nerd. WEEE

**Disclaimer****: Authoress:** Did no one come to save me _just_ because they missed me?

**Disney Officials:** -point guns and cutlasses-

**Authoress:** ...Oh...

**Chapter 12 (12? Holy crap!): Arrival...Details, Details**

With a gasp, James opened his eyes, panting for breath. He was soaked, sitting in the muck, so he noticed, in a foggy, unfamiliar swamp. There was a shack off in the distance, built on stilts to escape floods that must be frequent. It looked nearly as if it were built into the trees, through which no light shone. Perhaps it was night. There were candles lit in the windows. Someone was definitely home.

With a sudden sting of worry, he realized the girl was not with him. "Amy?" He stumbled to his feet, looking this way and that. There was no response. He cupped his muddy hands to his mouth and called for her again. "AMY!!" A thought entered his mind that she may be in danger, but he immediately dismissed it. As mysterious and strange as this place was, it felt safe. Then perhaps she was unconscious. It made sense after all: he had just been unconscious himself, as it were. So he began to look for tracks, footprints, any sign that some _thing_ had fallen from the sky. But the mud was loose and slimy, sucking at his feet and filling in his own footprints. After some time, he came to an area clear of trees. A river. And there was something on the far bank. "Amy!" He hastened to the water. The river was narrow here, perhaps as wide as a jolly boat was long, black water flowing through it. However, if he jumped, the bank would not support him—for he could have jumped it if he tried—so he instead decided to take the plunge. Literally.

The water was ice against his skin, in sharp contrast with the humid and somewhat warm air. He swam to the other bank in few powerful, effortless stroked, and climbed out on the other side, shaking himself like a dog before approaching the unmoving form. There she was, sleeping peacefully. He hauled her out of the muck and onto his back, her arms and head draped over his shoulders, and began the trek toward the glowing shack in the distance.

After some time, the river opened out and shallowed, water low enough to wade through. There was a mist about its surface, but the light from the house shone through it. As he waded, James sensed with a jolt that they were being watched. He stopped and slowly looked to the left, and saw nearly invisible people watching them from the trees. Behind him was the same. And to the right. It was a little creepy, but he got the feeling they were watching over him and the lass. In fact, they must have been the ones who pulled Amy from her initial crater and from sinking into the mud, he mused. He smiled gently and bid a soft "Thank you," as he continued on toward the small building. He heaved his young companion up the ladder and to the tiny porch, and set her down as he paused for rest. (The girl was light, but so is a flute–holding either for a long time gets tiring.) He saw then other similar houses which must have been inhabited by those ever-watchful people.

A few minutes later, wiping some of the dried mud from his face, he picked her back up, this time bridal style, and knocked on the door. It opened as if by its own will, and he peered in. The room was bathed in the light of several bright candles. Several jars and other such containers hung from the rafters (yes, there were rafters acting as a frame for a thatched roof.), filled with all sorts of things, from liquids to crabs' claws to...were those eyeballs? "Hello?" he called. "I don't mean to bother you, but I was wondering if I might be directed to—." He broke off.

A woman had appeared, African, dreadlocked, and dressed in an old, elaborate, once beautiful gown. "Your direction," she drawled slowly in a gentle broken-English accent, "is to go on straight for t'ree paces." She smiled, showing a mouth of silver teeth. She crossed the room, taking in the girl in his arms. "This is her?"

"Yes."

She chuckled softly. "That kind of travel is very tirin'. Her brought you bot' with her own will." He blinked. "There is a bed in the nex' room. Let her rest there."

"Thank you."

"There is also boots. I believe they will suit ya bettah than the shoes ya haves."

"Again, thank you." He set her down in the next room—gosh was she a heavy sleeper—and gently removed a slick strand of hair from her face in a gentle caress. "Rest up, pet," he murmured. "It tastes a lie to say this won't be an adventure." He stood and left to go properly meet this Tia Dalma.

"Ya care deeply for her," the woman said with a certain tone in her voice.

He smiled momentarily. "She's my only family, you could say." An albino anaconda slithered from the branch of a small tree, growing inside at the other side of the room, and out the window. Preoccupied by its movement, he did not notice the mystic had approached him until her voice sounded at his shoulder.

"Then you must cherish her forever and always." She stood before him, hand rising as she scrutinized his face. "These scars," she reached up, tracing a deep tear track with a slender finger. "They are by your hand, aren't them?" He said nothing, merely blinked. "Why would you do that?" she asked softly, hands still inspecting said age-old wounds. A soft breeze through the open window ruffled the feathers woven into her hair.

He did not react to the touch—he remained stone-faced. "I had to make myself look the proper age whilst in the Navy." He suddenly caught her hand and pushed it away. "Don't touch me."

"Ah," she smiled, "the Commodore is not comfortable in my home?"

"It's not that..."

"Then he does not trust me."

"It's not that either," he said defensively, before sighing apologetically. "I just...don't know what to expect. I would feel better knowing what we are up against."

"...And issues concerning him personal space."

"Fine, yes, I admit it." She laughed amiably. A ghost of a smile passed over his face. "How...did you know they were scars?" he asked with sudden curiosity.

"I can see what others cannot." She led him to the table and invited him to sit, sitting herself opposite him. "Let m'see yer hand." And he did, for once feeling that he could trust a woman.

—————

Amy opened her eyes, taking in the room around her. "Don't remember inviting you," she greeted an albino anaconda which had moved on her stomach. It raised its head and looked her in the face. It was somewhat chilling, making eye contact with a snake. A blue forked tongue flicked out to inspect her, and said reptile slithered up past her head and out the window. _Dotdotdot,_ thought she to herself. She rose, yawning and stretching before venturing into the next room.

"Good morning to you," she said to James upon seeing him, as he sat at the table, cleaning out the dirt under his nails with a dull dirk.

"With bright yellow cobras," he finished the thought.

"Anacondas, actually," she grinned. "I see we made it safely to Tia Dalma's."

"Yes."

"How long have I been out?"

"All night. Miss Dalma informed me that you used your 'powers' to get us both here, and tired yourself out."

"You've met her?"

"Mm-hmm," he bobbed his head.

"Where is she?"

"She left some time ago; she didn't say where, nor when she might be returning."

"Oh."

"In the meantime, you really may want to wash up. We landed in mud when we arrived, and my dear, you're filthy."

She looked herself up and down. "...Oh..." He chuckled. "Thanks." She stepped outside onto the small porch, the smell of plantlife and humidity hitting her like a wall. It was nice. She didn't get much of that in the suburbs where she lived. Sunlight streamed down between the leaves of the trees in rays of light, turning the dark swamp into a dense jungle. She took a deep breath of the warm air and took a swim in the shallow water, letting said water do all the work of cleaning while she herself had a little fun.

An otter, surely not indigenous to these parts, swam up playfully. Without another thought, the two were chasing one another in an energetic game of tag. After a while, the creature dove under the water. Moments later, it popped back up and squeaked at her before repeating the action. "I'm sorry," she said softly to it as it popped back up, this time nearer. "I can't swim under water very well." It blinked and nudged her playfully. "Maybe someday, when I either teach myself to swim better of make it possible for me to breathe under water, I'll be able to follow you." It blinked at her, then swam away. Ames heard the creak of a door opening and closing, as well as the clunk of boots on wood, and looked up to see James. He looked different now, naval jacket stained once more with mud, boots instead of shoes, hair growing longer and bushier—and beard growing back in. He nearly looked a pirate again. "Am I sufficiently clean yet?"

"Nearly." He descended into the water. "But you missed a spot right...here!" He splashed her.

"Oi!" she sputtered, shaking the water from her eyes and splashing him back. A splash war ensued, and a while later, the two heaved themselves onto a surprisingly solid bank, laughing. It was good not to be worrying about Jack for the time being. She sat up with a sigh, and he followed suit. "...That was fun."

"Aye."

"I wonder what we're going to be doing when she gets back," she said suddenly.

James' shoulders sagged slightly, as if he had been hoping that she wouldn't be thinking about the problems they would have to deal with, and he shook his head. "I don't know. We'll just have to wait and see."

"How long do you suppose we'll have to wait?"

"Shorter than you t'ink," came a voice. They looked up to see Tia Dalma floating past in a boat—which seemed to be leading itself. She motioned for them to follow her back to the shack. "Come. Details are important t'ings, and they must be discussed." Her boat continued on its way.

Ames and James exchanged wondering expressions before the latter stood and hauled the former to her feet. "Go on then."

"Nice try, Navy-boy, you're coming with."

Once inside, perhaps by intuition, the lass went straight to the divination table. The voodoo priestess looked up from the crab claws she had been reading and smiled. "Welcome youn' maiden."

Amy bowed respectfully. "Ohaiyou gozaimasu, Sensei." James did a double-take.

"I assume you have a few questions before we begin."

"You assume correctly." Amy took a seat at the table across from her in a manner similar to Will's when he had presented the 'drawring of a key'. "Why me? Why now?"

"The forces that have grant you such power have chosen you base on the contents of your subconscious an' heart." Ames blinked. "As for 'now', what is ya age?"

"Fifteen." Her voice had taken on Jack's accent once more.

"Sorcery is a funny t'ing. The powers is supposed ta show themselves when the sorcerer reaches the age of sixteen... Howeva', they are sometime' known to come a little early."

"And what about this war? Why would the sorcerers and other such magicians be gathering together to fight?"

"It is the fight for life. There are people would use their magic to destroy all life as we know it."

"But who would want any of that? I mean, if they destroy life, they'll be destroyed too!"

"Normally, that would be true—"

"Normally?"

"—but magics unlike anyt'in' in our realms is afoot. They wants powah. De force dat separates de Realms is a powerful force. If they can find out how to harness it, then they will take it for themselves, away from those that need and use it. As result, they will live...an' all else is oblivion when de Realms collide."

"In all the realms, eh?" the girl asked at length.

"Most. Some realms has no magic at all. Others are completely dedicated to either harnessing the power or fighting them that wants it."

"That's a lot of magic."

"Yess. And in order for them all ta meet on a single battle field, reality must twist. Realms will merge wid' one another, and the world order will be thrown inta chaos."

"And what does this all have to do with Jack? I mean, I assume that what happened to him is obviously the work of some magic," the girl went on without missing a beat.

"You assume correctly. Him been mistaken for the Guardian of our Realm."

Ames raised an eyebrow. "Guardian?"

"Yes. This side of the war, fighting to defend life, has great advantage: there are beings which are responsible for defending the Realms to which they belong. They possess much strength and power. Because Jack Sparrow serves as a link between several worlds, he has been mistaken for this Realm's Guardian."

"Then who did it to him?—Or—You know what, why don't we just cut to the chase and tell us what we can do."

"For reference in future times I will tell ya...a Guardian can neva be fully human." The lass's eyebrow quirked as she found the information irrelevant. "Now, for Jack, him emotions been manifested into living beings. Find them, and bring them here. Once we have them all, we will find the way to merge them back together."

"Then how do we find these 'manifestations'?"

Tia smiled. "That is where your magic come in. You shall learn with me how t' use it ta find him."

"I see how it is," she sighed, Axel-like. "I've got to master these 'powers' to help him."

"Not master. Not quite. Think of it as a test. When you are deemed ready, it shall be test of your knowledge an' control."

"As in, a test of my mast'ry over sorcery."

"Per'aps."

She sighed again. "So I've got to master these 'powers' to help him," she said again.

Tia Dalma smiled gently. "Come. The sooner you learn, sooner you can begin." Ames blinked away her worry and nodded. She had to be ready as soon as possible. She had to help Jack before something happened.

And so, the learning began.

* * *

So, there ya have it! Tia Dalma is SO hard to write. I actually haven't seen the movie that many times (even though I OWN the darned thing) so I can never know if I've overdone or underdone her accent, or totally butchered it. Bear with me here, mates. And review. Reviewing is a good thing!

Next chapter is finished, and the next after that I have recently begun. Kindly leave a review on your way out.

CMS


	13. Two Down

-sob!- The movie was great, and that's all I'm letting on to. However, one spoiler: a very good friend of mine is... Nah, that would be TOO much of a spoiler. -the grieving continues.- However, because of this...event...I have found it more difficult to write. Chapter fifteen is going much more slowly. Luckily chapter fourteen is finished. This chapter I do not like as much as others (I have no idea why) so please, bear with me here. Please?

So yeah, I meant to post this yesterday as your 'The-Authoress-Haas-Just-Seen-The-Movie' gift, but I was too busy sleeping for the whole day: we had this huge pirate party/sleepover when our crew went to see the movie, all dressed up as pirates. naturally, I played Jack. Fake facial hair and all. It was a lot of fun, though my crappy plastic swords kind of...died. Yeah. Haha. Oh well, there's always the Party Store. (Unless I decided to pirate Jess's sword...unlikely).

Reviews! Thanks for all of them!

**Destinysway114:** I think you mean 'upcoming'. Anywho, yeah, it was TOTALLY awesome. I had a great time. I wish Liz had stayed, but we never would have all fit into that basement, anyway! Lol!

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Or what. Thanks, mate! I know about the d versus th thing, but sometimes it's a subtle th that sounds like de and other times it's so irregular as for where and when she uses it that I can't tell, you know? Thanks for the tip though. I hope I did better in this chapter. You're welcome for the brownies. They looked delicious. Davy Jones? Only time will tell. But if you've seen the third movie, well...

**TheDreamChild: **Actually, I had that idea long before you began that story. In fact, as I was reading those first few chapters, I was thinking 'uh-oh, when I post my chapter she might think I'm copying o.0' but oh well. You're right, it's bound to come up more than once.

**ArmoredSoul**: Interesting? Very! Thanks for the review!

**marauder4ever:** Oh, so now EVERYONE gets to fence but me! Oy! Well ain't that just dandy! Oh well, perhaps one day I too shall learn the ways of the sword and the dance of the blade.

**Authoressinhiding:** Update? Did I hear someone say update? Here! Thanks for the review, mate!

**Stormwake:** Aww, thanks! O.o That's incredibly interesting, by the by. Elementals? Reminds me of Avalon. But enough of that. Are you sure she's not a Mary-Sue? I keep getting this nagging feeling at the base of me neck telling me she's a right-out wench. o-o

**Jess is a pirate: **Hmm...about 2 hours and 48 minutes? XD It was a fun party. Lots of fun. And I couldn't believe all the compliments I got on me costume, mate! Woot!

**Disclaimer** Oh come on! Do you think that, given the events of the final movie, I would EVER want to own something like that?! NO! -authoress begins to sob- Then again, I _could_ just steal the bloody franchise and change what happened... -ponders- -evil grin- Oh, and somebody go eat Jerry Bruckheimer and make him pay for his crimes! -sobbing continues-

**Chapter Thirteen:** **Two Down...How Many to Go?**

Days passed. It was morning, now, the sun's early rays filtering gently through the trees. James sat on a bank, fishing. A small pile of them was already growing at his side. There was a short tug on the line, and he was about to pull it in (yes, _pull_, instead of reel, for in fact he was only using a stick with a rock at the end of a string) when he saw something very odd: a familiar-looking horse was wading through the shallows toward Tia Dalma's shack. Needless to say, the fish got away.

—————

"Focus, chil'," Tia hissed. "Focus is what you need in order ta control ya magic." Amy nodded, taking a deep breath, trying to levitate a few crab claws at the table.

There was a loud thud outside. Focus broken, Amy followed her mentor to the porch. They looked down, and there was Jack-the-horse. "Jack!" The lass flew down the ladder and threw herself at the horse, who surprisingly did not spook.

"Him only a horse—there is no humanity within him."

"Oh... How did he know to come here?"

"This animal embodies him wisdom, among other t'ings. So him wise enough to _know_ ta come here."

"O...kay. Well, one down. That leaves only...how many more?"

"Six. And they will not come of them own accord, so _you_ must find dem... Which you cannot do unless ya learn ya basics!"

Amy gave the woman an irritated look and raised her hand in a snap, palm down, fingers stretched as if reaching for something. Moments later, a handful of crab claws came floating out in a line and spun around her mentor in a small whirlwind before floating back through the door.

"Well done by you, but ya mus' watch ya spite in futcha' times. It would lead to ya downfall."

Amy nodded with a nonchalant shrug. "So, wisdom among other things, eh?" she stroked the equine's face. "What, praytell, are the 'other things'?"

"Well..." Tia descended down the ladder, pieces of her dress waving in the gentle breeze. The stallion pricked his ears at her and nickered warmly. "Him friendliness, for one..." He bobbed his head, lifting his lip and making a face. Amy laughed. "And him certainly likable, and that is Jack's charm."

"Oh; our equine prince charming." The horse nudged her affectionately.

"Yes d'ere is one more." The lass looked up. "Dis horse manifests Jack Sparrow's love."

"Aww..." A thought struck her. "What are we going to do with him?"

"Mister Norrington." James, who had been present but silent looked up—Amy startled, having not noticed him. "Would you lead this horse to de next island over an' leave him at the Pflöte Plantation? Them will know how ta care for him until we have need of him again."

"Fine." He handed Amy the string of fish—which she promptly made a face at, not being the biggest fish fan. "Where can I find a boat to take him?"

"D'ere is no boat." James started. "You will ride him there."

"Ride—?"

"He can swim, and him smart enough ta understand human speech, so you will direct him with ya voice. Him follow you once ashore, if you don' wan' ta ride him when ya get there."

"All—right." He still looked disconcerted, lacking horse sense and experience. "And...how am I to get back?"

"De owner of the plantation give you a boat, will be returned him when we come back fetch the horse.

"And if the beast tires?" Amy blinked away an annoyed expression at the word 'beast'.

Tia gave him a praising look and strode back into her shack. Todd idly spun a pair of claws round one another in mid air as sounds of clinking and grinding came from inside. James patted the horse tentatively on the neck, and it turned its elegant head to him to sniff him and blow a breath in his face. The man made a face, and Amy chuckled. "Horse breath. You get used to it."

"Must I?"

"Yes!"

Tia Dalma returned a few minutes later with a bunch of powder and pieces of herbs cupped in her hands. "Him eat this; give him strength for de journey."

"He can't eat it like that; he'll inhale half of it!" the lass cried. She made twisting and swirling motions and everything was bunched into small bars. Treats. Keeping them airborne, she swept one hand up, water rising with the movement, and added it to the mixture so it would stick together. The finished product was a handful of bite-size treats, which fell neatly into James' hands.

"Good form. You are a fast learner. Ya focus and doubt are all that really need work at the moment."

"Fingers straight, Ellie," Ames advised her nephew as the horse received the treats from his palm. "No doubt then that those are what we shall be giving our attention to the most in coming days, then, aye?" she turned back to Tia Dalma, who nodded.

"De horse is ready," her mentor announced. She set a stool on the river floor for him to use as a mounting block. "Pflöte Plantation."

"Pflöte Plantation. I've got it." He mounted, somewhat clumsily.

"Oh, and James," the lass added, "when you get there, could you find Gibbs and the others and tell them what has happened, please?" He nodded. "They're staying at some tavern near the shore."

"I'll be sure to remember to," he said graciously. He gave his mount an inexperienced squeeze to the sides, and they were off.

"Boy is he gonna be sore..."

"Yes. Now, let us return to ya learnin'."

—————

More days passed, and the lass was really getting the hang of the basics. It was all still hard to believe, but at least now it was believable at all. "You have made sufficient progresss for now. Return to ya own Realm an' check in wid' ya family and friends."

"And...what of James?"

"I shall stay and help Miss Dalma until your return in a few days' time."

"Oh, okay. But, ah...I'm making a stop first before I head home." Realm travel had been one of her studies very recently. "See you in a bit." And with that, she vanished in a puff of purple smoke.

She had learned that there was a way of travel that did not require truest desire—it did not take nearly as much energy, and it worked wonderfully for frequent travel. In this case, she had gone into a world many of us have frequently imagined: the world of Harry Potter. She found herself in the Hospital Wing, well into the third book. She slunk forward, moving swiftly and silently, and hid behind a cot where she had a clear view of the events that were unfolding. "...five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck," Dumbledore was saying to Harry and Hermione. They were putting something around their necks... She squinted at it and waved her hand in a careful arc. The very same item appeared in her hand. A simple duplication. The other children disappeared into their time stream.

"Mission accomplished," she muttered to herself, holding up the hourglass. A sharp feeling hit her. Chocolate eyes blazed in her mind. "Jack?"

Dumbledore left the room. "Well done. I think—yes, I think you've gone too—get inside—I'll lock you in," she heard him saying.

In walked Harry and Hermione. They scooted back into their beds, whispering excitedly to one another about what had just happened to them. Ames found herself eavesdropping—it was a bad habit, she knew, but it was often quite useful. "A second hippogriff," Hermione chattered.

"I didn't know Hagrid had another one. I thought he had gotten rid of them all after the accident with Buckbeak."

This tidbit sparked her interest. "He went trotting off into the Forbidden Forest. I do hope he doesn't get caught of mistaken for Buckbeak."

_Oh snap_, the stranger thought to herself. _If something happens to him, we might not be able to bring Jack back!_ She rose. "In what direction did he go?"

The two looked up. Poor Ron, as confused as he was, decided to stop caring and instead tried to go to sleep. "Who are you?"

"No one of consequence," she replied calmly in an effortless British accent.

"And what do you want with Hagrid's hippogriff?" Hermione asked.

"Because he is in fact mine. I am a good friend of dear Rubeus, and he was taking care of him for me while I was away visiting dear little Norbert—well, not so 'little' anymore, actually—but he _is_ still young." Potter and Granger exchanged agreeing expressions and pointed off in one direction. Amy put her hands together, prayer-like (she tended to act like Jack whenever she spoke with a British accent of any kind) and bowed slightly. "Much obliged." And she threw herself out an open window. Her divination told her this was Jack's pride and vanity she was dealing with. _Think about it: you save a girl's life, your reputation skyrockets..._, she tried to think to the manifestation. Still, nothing came to catch her. She waved a hand and conjured a broom, which she leaned up with and flew to safety.

She could conjure one or two things decently, duplicate pretty well, and teleport a little. However, she had yet to discover her element. Every sorcerer or sorceress had an element wherein everything they were able to do was based on their element. For instance, some could only do things related to time—requiring much creativity—while others used fire or the moon or ice, and so on. There had been no clues so far as to what Amy's might be.

She flew on in the direction she had been pointed. Soon, she was over the trees of the Forest, whose canopy was so dense that she could not make out what lay within. She descended, and as soon as her feet touched the ground, the broom disappeared. She hadn't made anything yet that would exist. Everything she made she had to maintain the form of. Now, she slunk into the dark woods, following only the faint tug on her mind that was a very strong presence of Jack. Other thank that, she hadn't the faintest idea as to where she was or where she was going.

An hour and a half later, as she was despairing of ever finding either the hippogriff or her way out—and beginning to wonder if this was Jack at all—she came upon an open clearing, a small pond at its center, moonlight shining brightly through a gap in the trees. There, a magnificent creature was standing on the bank. She crept silently closer. It had the front and wings of a giant, silver eagle, and the hindquarters and tail of a dapple gray horse, and it was...admiring its reflection in the water? "Yup, definitely vanity," she muttered with a sigh and a roll of the eyes. She rose slowly and whistled, approaching. The magnificent beast fixed its gaze on her in the form of a glare, puffing out its feathers and pawing the ground once she crossed an invisible line and she stopped in her tracks, bowing low, eyes never leaving his, and did not straighten until the hippogriff returned the gesture several long moments later. She approached confidently though cautiously and hoisted herself onto his back. He protested, reacting viciously, but they were already disappearing in a cloud of steam.

Amy opened the eyes she had not recalled closing and saw that they were now back in the bayou. She dismounted and the hippogriff ruffled his feathers. "Your reputation would sink to the bottom of the briney blue if you did anything to try to hurt me," she warned him as he was about to attack. It seemed to think this over before lowering its talons back, with disdain, to the mud.

"Amy?" she heard James ask in astonishment.

She looked up, and sure enough, they were near Tia's shack. "Oi! Thought I'd drop by for a visit," she called in Jack's voice with a wave.

"Dear, what are you doing here?" He hurried over, ignorant of the hippogriff's growing agitation when he did not stop to bow. It raised a foot to strike as he drew within range.

"James, no!" She tried to tackle him out of the way, but a foot caught in the mud threw her off balance. She clumsily bumped him out of the way, but not before the creature's terrible claws raked through her flesh like a knife through butter. By luck and timing, however, she just nearly out of his range, and thus the wounds were shallow enough—but it still hurt like the dickens! With a ragged gasp of pain and surprise, she tumbled back against his chest, holding her stomach, blood dripping between her fingers.

"Amy!" He caught her with trembling hands as she began to sink to the ground, turning her around to see the extent of her wounds. "Let me see," he ordered in a gentle, firm voice, sitting her down. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she was panting shallowly, trying to evade the pain that would come with every breath she drew. She still clutched at her stomach, afraid to move. "Let me see," he repeated more firmly. She met his gaze, his eyes green with the excitement, with frightened brown eyes and, after moment's hesitation, removed her hands. He gently peeled her torn shirt from the wounds—the lass clenching involuntarily at his shoulder and biting her lip, forbidding herself from crying out—and drew back. So much blood! "Must you always mortally injure yourself every time you and I embark on an adventure?" he asked softly, humorously, trying to distract her from the pain with conversation.

"Sorry... Bad habit," she managed to pant before adding, "I...actually haven't yet...mate."

"You're right. They aren't very deep."

"Then why...did you say it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I've always wanted to say that." This merited the stifling of a laugh on her part, which resulted in a gasp of pain. "We'll need a rag and some bandages. Stay here, while I—" he cut off as a basket floated toward them on the surface of the water. He fetched it and peered inside. Bandages and kerchiefs. He looked around for a sign of whomever had sent it their way—likely one of the natives—so that he could properly thank them. But no one could be seen. Nonetheless, he took the basket and its contents and set to cleaning away the blood. She hissed at the sudden sting of fabric on flesh. "Easy, sailor," he breathed automatically, soothingly.

She nodded, holding her breath. "Where'd the hippogriff go?"

"Is that what that thing was? It's admiring itself in the water."

"Jack's pride and vanity," she managed.

"So that's why you brought it here. Why didn't you wait or speak with Teacher instead? That thing is dangerous." Yes, they had come to referring to her mentor 'adoringly' as Teacher.

"There was no time." She suddenly caught his hand to stop it from cleaning so hard, where his nursing had grown absentminded. He murmured apologies and went on more gently. "He was in danger of being mistaken for another hippogriff went missing that had a death sentence to be carried out a wee bit prior to the time at which I arrived."

James paled. "Oh." He began to bandage her up. "Well, you're speaking in full sentences again, so I take it that the pain has died down some," he changed the subject.

She thought a moment. "Oh yeah, I guess you're right."

He tightened the bandages and let her bloodied shirt fall back into place. "You'll need to take it easy."

"I know." He helped her to stand. "We'll have to lead him to Tia Dalma." A thought suddenly struck her. "But I can't bow."

"Bow?" his eyebrows came together. "I could get him."

"So long as you do exactly as I say, I don't see why not."

"All right."

"So if I say 'Get out of there,' you _get_ out."

He blinked. "Al-...All right."

She let out a breath. "Okay. First off, approach him slowly and make sure he knows you're there." James took careful steps toward the beast, whistling and clapping and catching pride's attention. "Okay, now you bow," she instructed when he drew near enough. "That's it, nice and low." The hippogriff ruffled its feathers and snapped its beak."Back off a little bit!" Ellie complied, maintaining his bow. After considering him for a few moments, the beast returned the gesture. Amy sighed with relief. "Good. Now, you have to walk around flapping your arms and poking your nose like a chicken."

He straightened slowly and was about to obey, then instead turned to face her, an odd expression on his face. "Now you're just joking with me."

"Yes."

"Well...now what?"

"You can get close to him now. Maybe lead him."

"All right." He picked up a rope that had been tied to the bandage basket and tied it around the hippogriff's neck. The three began the walk back. James was now lost in his thoughts. "Why did you do that? I could have taken the hit."

"Well I wasn't aiming to take it either, for the record, but it wouldn't have been fair for you to have either."

"What?"

"I mean, you didn't know the consequences of approaching a hippogriff, and who's to blame you? It wouldn't have been right for you to be 'punished' for something you weren't even aware of! However, I know, therefore I am the one who should face said consequences."

James blinked. "Still, the wounds were shallow enough, ergo you didn't have to do that."

She raised a contradicting finger. "Actually, when I jumped in there, I pushed us back. I was trying to get us both out of the way, but me boot got caught in the mud. Either way, it would have been much worse if otherwise."

"Well..."

"Can't stay long. I can only travel so far back in time."

James startled. "What?"

She pulled out the hourglass. "If I turn it too many times, I'll end up choking myself. A week and a half is a lot of hours and a lot of turns."

"When did you get this?" he asked, inspecting the object.

"From that place I just went to. It was lucky I popped up when I did, or I wouldn't have known about Jack," she added as an afterthought. They stopped walking, having reached the shack. "I'll be back 'tomorrow,'" she animated her speech with 'air-quotes.' She took a deep breath, placing the hourglass's string round her neck, hands poised to begin turning it when James caught one and pulled it away.

"I don't think you should."

"What?"

"At least not yet, dear. We don't know that it's safe."

"You mean that you don't think I duplicated it right?"

"You made this?" She nodded. He nodded back. "You've only been at this for little more than a week."

"You don't think I can do it," she said sullenly.

"Right." Gee, way to console a girl, James. "At least not yet. When you've had more experience, I'll trust your abilities, bit right now you are as inept with your gift as I am on the back of a horse." He cocked his head with the ghost of a smile. "Besides...it's pink."

"WHAT?!" Ames yanked the hourglass from her neck and looked at it, aghast. "Good call, Ellie. If it's pink and it's not in nature, then it must be wrong. Oh well, we'll try next time." She suddenly groaned. "I have over a week's worth of school to make up! I guess I'll be back next _week_."

"Then I'll see you then." He released his grip on the hippogriff's with one hand and extended his arm for a goodbye hug. There was the rattle of chains as he moved, and the girl caught his wrist, looking at it funny.

"James, you jingle." He blinked. She pushed back his sleeve to reveal the long-forgotten handcuff, broken chain links clinking softly as they fell free from his cuff. He momentarily dropped the lead, giving the hippogriff a warning look, and pushed up his other sleeve to reveal the other handcuff.

"We, ah, never found a way to get them off," he explained softly.

"Oh." She blinked as an image momentarily appeared before her of a pair of smooth, dark, feminine hands examining pale, calloused, male ones over a familiar wooden table. "...Ask Teacher. ...I'm...sure she'll know what to do."

He gave her an examining look. "Are you all right, pet?"

"Just a little homesick," she said quickly. "Warn everyone who needs to know about how to approach this guy. He'll like you more with compliments about him." She accepted his muchaforementioned hug—boy did he give great bear hugs—and stretched up on her tip-toes to peck him familiarly on the cheek. "See ya, love ya, bye, moo!" she rambled, indigo mist beginning to swirl around her, form beginning to fade.

"Moo," he replied with a curt wave and a small smile.

And she disappeared.

When Ames next opened her eyes, she was sinking into the half-foot of slush, cold seeping into her toes. The thaw had come. Birds sang and flitted about in the rays of sunlight filtering down through the empty branches of the gargantuan maple trees in her backyard. She smiled as she looked around, then checked her watch (which she had been forgetful enough to remove). It read: Monday, late morning. Good, plenty of time for her to check her school's internet database and begin catching up on her work. A plan was already forming in her head that she could take everything in moderation by week; school for a week, Caribbean for the next, et cetera. Ah well. Now she would have to explain to her parents that she had magical powers and had to learn to use them as quickly as possible so that she could save Jack—sorry, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow from fading out of existence.

She stepped onto her deck and strode to the back door, picking up the small turtle statuette and holding it upside down so she could retrieve the key hidden in its secret compartment, and unlocked the door. She replaced the key and turtle and strode inside, silently closing the door and slipping upstairs to change out of her bloodied pirate gear. It felt almost unfamiliar to be wearing 'normal' clothes, after such a long time, but at the same time, it felt nice.

She checked in with her father, merely giving him a wave, for he was in the middle of some important teleconference, then went straight to her laptop to catch up on her studies. It was so tempting to check her e-mails and sign on to AIM, but all of her friends were at school, anyway. She continued for hours, only stopping for food and a good scolding from her parents when her mother returned from work. As it were, she decided to refrain from telling them about her magic, but told everything else in truth.

They understood the importance of her mission, never doubting its truth, given the victim's history—and their daughter's previous adventures. And they couldn't really blame her for leaving without warning—both had seen the note, and it had explained that she hadn't known _when_ she would be back. And they saw how much work she had already gotten done. Knowing her procrastination problem and selective attention span as well as they did, she had really gotten a lot done. All her Honors Algebra and Trigonometry bookwork was done, most of her English Vocab and Grammar had been completed, and she had studied everything she had missed so that she could pass that Chemistry test she had missed. Tomorrow, she would retrieve everything needed to continue catching up, but for tonight, they would stay up late trying to come up with a decent excuse for her mossing out on school every other week.

And yet, through all her excitement at being back—and the cat was happier too, having missed her human—and her focus on schoolwork—which was beginning to give her a headache—there was something that never left the back of her mind. In the vision she had seen of Tia's and James' hands...there had been no handcuffs to speak of. Such tender and gentle touch had passed between them. She imagined the low, soft rumble of James' voice and the quiet ebb and flow of Teacher's in reply as they perhaps had some deep and heartfelt conversation.

Without really understanding why, she sensed that any relationship deeper than what already existed would end badly. But she pushed it out of her mind. The two didn't even seem like they had grown any closer than when they had first met—they still called each other Mister and Miss, for crying out loud—and here she was, assuming there was something growing between them! She mentally berated herself and blamed an overactive maternal instinct for doing...whatever it was doing.

James wasn't falling in love. He just wasn't.

* * *

All right, ten pages! Don't complain! Now, I want one review for each page, ya savvy? Good! Review! 

And go see the third movie. You'll laugh. You'll cry. And you'll enjoy it overall!

(P.S. Sorry about all the typos. I'm leaving for a trip in about three minutes and wanted to get this up before I left--didn't have enough time to edit.)


	14. The Armored One

All righty then! I'll bet you weren't actually expecting me to be on schedule with this update! XD Well I am. And chapter fifteen is exceedingly long. Thirty-and-a-half pages in my journal. And chapter sixteen is very near completion (depending on when I post this.) If you will notice, in the previous chapter regarding James' age, I changed it from twenty-nine to thirty-two. Late twenties is just too low to ask for o.0; So I'm pretty sure ffnet actually deleted several of my reviews for the last chapter, so if I don't reply to someone, that's why.

Anywho, thanks for all the support with the last chapter!

**ArmoredSoul:** Wonderful movie, don't you think? I loved it except for...well, you know. Thanks muchly for teh review!

**TheDreamChild:** Yes, I know why. But now that I have the proper loopholes, this story isn't as AU as expected! YAYNESS!

**Destinysway114:** Glad you were able to discern the meaning of that on your own, mate. Oh, and I dunno why, but whenever I think of Kirby with a sword, I automatically think 'Link.'

**Little Miss Sparrow:** I understand completely. Yeah, you could say it was sort of what happened...ish...in certain parts...and stuff... Have you seen it yet? If so, did you LOVE it? If not, GO SEE IT A.S.A.P!!!

**Stormwake:** Aww, I'm glad the story was on your mind! It maketh me feel all warm and fizzy inside. Yeah, Jones' 'funny line' was kind of out of place, but it was definitely something he would do to mock the noble during his dying breaths... -sob- Hmm, Norritia...how about Nia Jalma... o.0 Nah... Anywho, with all my loopholes, this may not be so AU after all! I'm happy! And thanks for the reassurance concerning Mary-sue-ishness. It means a lot. -huggle-

**Authoressinhiding:** And no doubt I am eternally grateful that you took the time to review a second time. Yeh, James makes me want to cry too. Well it did...but now I'm better! Yay!

**EvilChibiHikari:** Haven't heard from you in ages, mate! Good ta see yer name! Your own Pirate-Party sounds like it was a lot of fun! Thanks for the lovely review.

**Jess is a Pirate:** No worries, luv. You reviewed just in time! Yeah, we _do_ need to get Liz out to see it. But it's oki. We don't need to rush; she said it herself that she can be patient. Have fun with, uh...life... XD

**Disclaimer** Authoress: -sniffsniff- -sniffsniff- -sniffsniff- Ah...A franchise.  
Jerry Brickheimer: -shoots- ... My franchise.

**Chapter Fourteen:** **Brief Normality**

Countless voices converged to become a single buzz. Amy sighed as she strode across the parking lot, asphalt wet as the snow melted in the quickly-rising heat. How was she going to pull this off? At least in excuse for last week, her parents had written a note saying she'd come down with the flu. But what about all the other times she wouldn't be here? Wouldn't they be just a tad bit suspicious if she was out with the flu every other week? School. She took the steps two at a time and wandered to a corner between a brick wall and windows, outside her cafeteria, and set down her pack, sitting and mindlessly fingering the golden puzzlepiece that hung from her neck. That was the other thing—how was she going to concentrate on school when she was busy worrying about Jack?

"Todd!" a voice broke her out of her thoughts.

She looked up to see her best friend rushing forth to greet her. "Jimmy!" She rose and they proceeded to poke each other with a short exchange of meows.

"Where have you been?! You've been gone fore like two weeks!"

"One week and two weekends," she corrected in a Jack-like fashion.

Jess (for indeed that was her non-drag name) facepalmed, blue eyes giving her friend a look. "Yeah, but what happened? You could've at least called or something!"

"Well it was kind of short notice, and where I went doesn't get phone service. I'm really sorry—if I had known when I was going, I would have told you. ...Sorry."

"Oh, okay," Jess replied amicably. "What were you doing, anyway?"

Amy thought a moment. She had to word this just right. "...Helping a friend."

"Aww. That's cool."

"He's dying," she said suddenly.

"Oh!" Her best friend hugged her.

"But there is something can be done that might get him better, and that's what I was helping out with."

"Aww." Jess patted Amy's head. "I hope he'll be okay."

"Me too." She sighed, then suddenly perked up. "So, getting off a disappointing subject, where is everybody?" Jimmy shrugged. "Liz?"

"She was feeling kinda homicidal yesterday, so I think she's staying home today."

"Oh. Hope she feels better. What about other-Amy?" The name was too common!

"With Tom."

Stupid boyfriends. Ames frowned, muttering something mutinously about a 'deserter'. "And Rosie?"

"I dunno. I think she went to Sweden."

"Already? Ahh! So it's just us then!" She conjured an imaginary Keyblade, leaning into a fighting stance. "Wanna work on that cosplay?"

"Amy, there are people here."

The young pirate's eyebrow rose. "So?"

"Wow, can't beat that logic!" They grinned. "I just don't feel like it today."

"Oh, okay. Maybe when I see Hilary she and I can do something. You want in?"

"We'll see." So instead, they quoted 'The Village of DDR' and 'Final Dance Fantasy'... and'Cup of Ramen', too, until the bell rang. Unfortunately, though, they had no classes together. Time before and between few certain classes were all they had. ...And any time outside of school, but it was rare if it was ever in person—they lived so far away from each other—so it was nearly always in Instant Messaging. Occasionally—very occasionally—by phone, in which case the bills would shoot way up when conversations lasted about three hours. (The Authoress facepalms here.)

Classes went, and there were the incessant questions about her absence that bombarded her the whole day and irked her to no end. As she was walking home, nearly suffocating under the huge number of books and papers she had to bring back in order to catch up on the rest of her work, she already missed the Caribbean. But school! She'd already missed so much of it during her previous adventures, though, and she was _still_ making up some of the work from _then_! Then a thought hit her. What about the weekends?

—————

"No. Absolutely not," her mother rebuked upon hearing the suggestion.

"Why not?"

"You'll be missing church."

"Would you rather I miss school?"

"That's not what I said." She glared at her daughter, who only blinked and crossed her arms, knowing her mother so well that she knew the look was insincere. "But I want you to go to church."

"I'm secure in my faith, Mom," the girl assured her. "And you'll miss me less when it's only the weekends."

"And what about us-time?" her mother put on a playful pout, sticking out her lower lip.

Ames smiled and hugged her. "Just as soon as I get done making up everything that this debate I keeping me from."

"Oh all right. In that case, no T.V. or laptop unless your homework requires it." They released one another,

"Foin," she sulked maturely. Her mother laughed. "So yeah, I was thinking that if I left after dinner on Friday nights, we would have enough time as a family to share our adventures, and _I_ would likewise have more time in a weekend to try to help Jack."

Mom considered her. Her plan _did_ make sense... (of course it did! it always did!) ... "Look at you, making your own decisions like this. You're so grown up!"

She patted her mother on the head. "Yeah, I know" she said modestly. "I gotta go get the rest of my work done. See you in..." She paused to count on her fingers. "...about ten hours. On, and dinner. Dinner's good too." Her mother chuckling, she left for an afternoon of boredom.

—————

Amy presented her idea to Tia Dalma later that week, and the Voodoo Priestess agreed that it seemed like a sound plan. So, the week went by, and Friday came round once again. Amy led Pongo to the mounting block and swung easily into his familiar saddle. She had been a little late in arriving as her weekend homework had taken her a little longer than expected to complete—so now she didn't have to worry about boring her behind off waiting for the less experienced riders to saddle up and mount. She swung her leg onto her horse's shoulder and pulled up the flap to adjust the girth, simultaneously giving him a nudge to get going. Adjusting her stirrups, she squeezed him into a trot and joined the lesson.

Jumping was different today. It was deemed warm enough for the horses to jump outside again. Only the most advanced riders, though, for the ring was larger, with more room for error, the horses went faster (especially since it was cold) and the jumps were higher. Thus, only Amy and her twelve-year-old friend Molly went outside, instructed to take a short trail ride while their trainer jumped the young'uns inside. "I'm excited," Amy murmured as they walked down the road. One of Pongo's ears twitched to catch her voice. "It's been so long since we rode outside. I mean the last time I did, it was last summer, remember? And that was my first time."

"Yeah," Molly grinned. "That was funny."

Ames made a face. "Shut up," she laughed. They turned off the road and onto a gravel drive that led between two crop fields to the crop-and-dairy farm next door.

"You wanna trot?" the young blonde asked.

"When don't I?"

"Good point." And with that, they nudged their horses into a trot and posted to the halfway point before slowing, turning around, and walking back. "Which course do you think Amy'll make us do?" (This was _also_ the name of their trainer. Seriously—the name is TOO common!)

"I dunno. Either outside-outside inside-inside or outside-outside-outside inside-outside-inside." 'Outside' or 'inside' referred to a line of two jumps. There were two lines on the ring's _outside_ and two lines crossing through the middle.

But, even though she knew the courses like the back of her hand, it was strange to be jumping outdoors again. When the time came, Ames steered her faithful steed to the rail and nudged him into a canter. He picked up the correct lead, even though he preferred the other. She steered him around the corner and to their first jump, giving him a confident squeeze. About three strides away, his strides became curt and bouncier, as if asking 'Are you ready? Are you ready?' and they sailed over the first fence, and six strides to the next.

Approaching the next outside line at the other side of the ring, Pongo put in an extra stride just before the jump, where Amy had thought he would have taken off, and the rhythm was briefly distorted before they sloppily hopped over the fence. Her trainer called out to correct her. Five strides to the next jump, and that one went beautifully. They managed the tighter turn to the inside line and flew over both fences without flaw.

The next turn was tighter, and the lass was unprepared when her steed cut the corner a little and sped up toward the barrels. They jumped them clearly, however, and as they landed she checked his speed, counting their rhythm as they sped toward the final jump. _One, two, one, two, one, two, one, two, one..._ They sailed over the final jump, and she pulled him up to a stop, giving him a pat on the neck. "G'boy. Not bad for me being so rusty, hey?"

Dinner seemed to fly by, and after a quick shower, a change back into now-clean pirate gear, and a thorough goodbye, she was off.

Her judgement was a little off, however, for when she appeared in the swamp, she fell another ten feet to the sucking mud which closed around her. Hands stuck in the mud, she could not wave the stuff away magically. _Hmm,_ she thought irrelevantly. _Gonna hafta work on this later..._ She squirmed and tried to kick out, but t no avail. She was stuck. "Oh, darnit..." Footsteps on the soggy ground reached her ears, and she looked up. An unfamiliar armored figure was approaching, and in the deceiving dimness of twilight as the sun set, she could not make out its face. "Who's there?" The figure continued closer without answer until, as the shadows deepened, it stood before her. It was a man, she could tell, but that was all. He bent over her and, taking hold of her upper-arms, hauled her out of the muck. "Hey thanks, mate, I appreci—whoa!" she cried out as the man abruptly began to drag her by the arm off in one direction. "You know, you could at least wait until I've finished thanking you before you start dragging me off... Who are you anyway?"

The mystery man didn't answer, and with a sigh, Amy had to follow. After a few silent minutes, they reached firmer ground. There, the stranger reached into a small pack slung over one shoulder on his back and pulled out a flintlock and what looked like a small club. "Whoa, what's that for?" He didn't answer. He instead pointed the pistol sideways and held it to the bulbous end of the club. The gears in her mind began to turn as she started to recognize the action, and she jumped in surprise as the firearm discharged. The flintlock sparked and lit what was actually not a weapon, but a torch. The flames flared, then settled, casting a flickering light on the face of her 'rescuer.' "Oh G-d, James!" she yelled, a hand over her heart. "You seriously scared me!"

He looked at her in nonchalant concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "I am now. Thanks for getting me un-mucked."

"Not a problem. What are you doing so far out, anyway?"

"Far out?" It was true. She looked around and saw not a shack in sight. She couldn't even hear the gurgle of the river. "I had a good time riding and I think my mind was still on it when I was coming."

James rolled his eyes. "Teacher was right—your focus does need honing."

She looked him up and down. "What are you wearing, anyway?"

He rolled his eyes. "And attention span." She ignored the comment, circling him observantly. He was in fact wearing some leather sort of armor, which looked to be crudely made, though reliable. Strapped to his back, his thighs, his ribs, chest, shoulders, knees, elbows, forearms...etc: that was where the plates were thickened and layered. On the undersides of these places, as well as on his upper arms and midsection, was a sort of leather suit—skintight, thick, and yet flexible and easy to move in. His boots had changed. They were tighter and thinner in material, as well as lighter in color. The folded region only came down a couple of inches instead of to mid-calf, and indeed the footwear looked almost dainty. His waist was circled by two belts, which were loaded with his weaponry and including a second sword she hadn't seen before. When she stared a moment, taking in the whole get-up, he snapped his fingers in front of her, and she saw he wore fingerless, padded gloves. "Mouth hanging open, love." His hair was longer and bushier, too, and his beard groomed and well-kempt.

She shut it, grinning embarrassedly. "So...should I even dare to ask?"

"Yes. Maybe _you_ will be able to get a straight answer out of her," he replied curtly.

"Huh?"

"It was Teacher's idea. She had someone make it. When I asked, all she said was that I'd be needing it."

"So what are you doing out here then?"

"What does it look like? I was taking a hike to try and learn how to _move_ in this wretched outfit, and I heard you make an impromptu landing. Now come on, let's get back and get you cleaned up."

She sighed and followed him, wondering why on Earth Teacher wanted him in armor like this. After perhaps a mile, they reached the shack.

"Ya took longer in coming than ya said," they looked up to see Tia waiting for them on the porch.

"Well my, uh, estimation was a bit off and..."

"Her mind was adrift," James explained. "She landed about a mile out and managed to get herself stuck in the mud."

"Ya haf' ta learn ta focus, chil'!"

"I know. And I wasn't. And I should have. And I will."

"Good. Clean up quickly—we mus' make up for los' time."

She obeyed, Norrington hanging effortlessly from the ladder as he kept an eye on her. "I'm not going anywhere, you know," she said, her back to him, still feeling his gaze as she splashed water over herself.

"I know, but..." He faltered. What, James? What do you need to say? "I missed you."

"You don't deal with this kind of stuff very well, do you?"

He shrugged, sliding into the water. "It's just...it's so quiet here without you...and it feels so empty."

"Aww. So _that _kind of missing."

"What?"

"Well, you can miss someone because you know you won't see them again or for a long time, _or_ you can miss someone because their presence has become something you take for granted, and then things become awkward having said someone gone."

His brows came together confusedly. "Whatever you say, pet."

"Exactly."

—————

Later, a now-clean Amy and an armoréd James sat at the table across from Tia Dalma. "We will use d'ese claws ta find another form of Jack. Choose which."

Ames thought a moment. "How about Jack's laugh?" James' eyebrows rose. "What? We could use some laughter."

Teacher nodded, cupping the crab claws int her hands and giving them a shake as she closed her eyes. She murmured an incantation or somesuch in a language foreign to both sets of ears, and the claws dropped to the table in one big clump. Amy sat and inspected them. It would be hard to tell where they pointed depending on which world they were in.

Minutes passed and James came around beside her, setting a glovéd hand gently on her shoulder. "See anything you recognize, pet?"

"Nmmh..." She pointed to a shape made in the claws. "I know this. It's a rock structure I've seen before."

"That's great. Do you know where it is?"

"It's in a place I know fairly well."

"Perfect. Let's go."

"Now hang on a minute. It's a place with dangers the likes of which you've never seen."

"Same with your cooking." She shot him a look. "Sorry, go on."

"I don't want you going."

"What?"

"You heard me. I'm serious."

"If it's as dangerous as you say, then there is no way I am letting you go alone. And there is nothing you can do to stop me coming." There was a long pause as she registered and accepted his decision. "Where is this place, anyway?"

"Kingdom Hearts."

* * *

Seven pages long. Still pretty long considering my average. Just you all wait until chapter fifteen. It'll be really long, coming from me! Oh, and for those of you who care, the treacherous content of the second chapter will soon be rewritten and reposted, so worry not! Well, I'ma go sleep now. Meh, still too lazy to edit (which I am increasingly sorry for!)

Review!


	15. Am I in the Wrong Fic?

Heyy ever'body! Today was my last day of finals (and I got an A on today's!) so as an it's-the-Authoress's-last-day-of-school gift, here's an update! ...An extra-long update! Seventeen-and-a-half pages! So don't complain!

Also, I was gonna post the rewrite of the treacherous chapter two, but I haven't got it finished quite yet. So either I'll put it up in a few days for just anyone really to check in and see, or I can put it up in ...what, two weeks? when I post chapter 16. I dunno–we'll see.

Reviews! Thank you all so much!

**Little Miss Sparrow: **No worries, I understand perfectly about the not-letting-you-review-more-than-once thing. And don't worry, the confusion–at least the KH confusion–will only last for a couple of chapters. I hope it doesn't take away from your enjoyment, though!

**Mer:** School is out! YAAAAAAAYYY! I hope I don't confuse you too much with this chapter. Oh, and keep an eye out for our mutual friend. I had to pay her with a cameo for a quote of hers... eheheh...

**Destinysway114:** Mentioned! Weeeeee! Link? Wow, Hilz, the question is, who _doesn't_ know about Link? Oy.

**Jess is a pirate:** Yeah, I kinda figured I'd get my behind handed to me if I poofed off again. Here's teh KH! Ihop? Can't wait. See you tomorrow!

**ArmoredSoul:** Ahh! I'm glad you're excited, and I hope these next two chapters bring you joy. Thanks for the review!

**EvilChibiHikari:** It's good to hear you so excited about another chapter coming out. Here it is. I spent an extra amount of time on it, and I hope you like it. Thanks for the review!

**TheDreamChild:** Hmm...have I taken you up on your offer? Have I not? Okay, okay, I have. It was a stretch to get you in there, but I hope you are satisfied with it... XD Thanks, mate.

**marauder4ever:** Wow! So many people are Kingdom Hearts fans! That's exciting...and an uncanny coincidence...XD Thanks for the review!

**Stormwake:** Yayness! You get to be a normal video-game obsesser like the rest of us! Weee! No, I haven't seen Inuyasha. Yeah, the timeturner would be cool, but it's a little too convenient, you know? Thanks for the review.

**Disclaimer** I've always been entwined with PotC. ...But never joined.

And there's a quote I commandeered from TheDreamChild, for the record...

**Chapter Fifteen:** **Dive into the Heart**

His eyebrows rose. "Kingdom Hearts?"

"Well technically Kingdom Hearts II but hey, same franchise."

"But what is it?"

"It's a game in my world?"

"A game...?"

"I shouldn't bother to explain it."

"I wouldn't understand if you did." There was a thoughtful pause. "Then let's go."

"Are you sure you're ready?"

"I am as ready as I'll ever be."

"All righty then." She held out her hand, which he reached for and squeezed gently. "We'll be back as soon as we can, Tia Dalma."

"Be not hasty, chil'. Take ya time," her Teacher reassured her.

The girl nodded and turned back to her companion. "Now, you're gonna have to help me out here, okay?"

"All right."

"Do you remember my den?"

"Yeah."

"Imagine yourself standing in it."

"Why—?" Her finger on his lips silenced him.

"No questions, love. You'll see soon enough." He considered her a moment, blinking, and nodded. "Good," she smiled slightly, withdrawing her digit. He closed his eyes, head bowed slightly as he imagined the room and waited for some sensation of falling. Out of nowhere he felt chilled, as what he assumed to be a breeze caressed him from the window. Air whistled in his ears, and the ground momentarily disappeared from beneath his feet—still he did not open his eyes. There was a sudden jolt and both of his knees gave out, and he lurched forward. There was an 'Oof!' as young hands caught him and struggled to support his weight. "James! Aah—you can open your eyes now!" He blinked them open, smirking at the girl with a wink before regaining his balance and looking around. True enough, they were back in her den. The cat sat on the couch, unperturbed, casually washing behind her ears.

"Hello, Zoë," Norrington greeted her, extending a hand. She took one sniff at his armor and took off.

"I don't think she likes it."

"Well that makes two of us." She gave him a 'then-why-are-you-wearing-it-if-you-don't-like-it' look, which he ignored. "Come on, we should worry about finding Jack, not about my ah, fashion choices. How shall we get to Kingdom Hearts?"

"Easy." She hit the power button on her widescreen-flatscreen television, selected the proper input channel, and turned on her PS2.

"Amy? I thought I heard a voice."

"Oh, hey, Mom. I'm glad you're here. James and I have been called to Kingdom Hearts to find a part of Jack. Make sure no one turns off the game of T.V. because we'll be inside of it for a while. Don't give me that look. We'll be out in a couple of days, tops. You can turn the sound all the way down if you want, just keep the game on screen."

"But how will I watch the television then?"

"You've got one in your room been sitting there for a couple years, yeah? And you can live without 'On Demand' for a few days, can'cha? _Please_, Mom, we _have_ to save Jack!"

"Fine, but you know I'll forget."

"You won't. I'll make sure of it." She chose her level ninety-nine normal setting saved game, and her last save point appeared on screen. "It's been so long since I played this. Oh good, we're in Hollow Bastion."

"That doesn't sound like a very nice place."

"Oh don't worry. It's been renamed the Radiant Garden since I beat the game. But I'm more used to its previous name. I'll be right back." She cantered off in experienced equine mimicry and returned with a paper sign and tape which she stuck to the screen, warning all 'No touchy'. Then, her mother having left the room, she hid the remotes. "Okay, we're good. Let's get outta here." She waved her hand over the screen and the surface rippled like water for a few moments. She stepped forward, reaching out, and her hand went through it easily. "Okay, come on." And she promptly fell through the gooey portal.

—————

Her feet touched the ground safely and she looked around, head tilted curiously and observantly to one side. She stood at the center of the Marketplace. "Oh, this is too cool!" However, she suddenly felt then that something was wrong. "James?" She whirled around. He was nowhere in sight, and she found she was alone in the Marketplace but for one girl dressed in a pink dress. Ames stumbled over.

The girl turned to her, brunette braided hair gently following the turn of her head. "Hello. You must be new here. I'm Aerith."

"Yeh—it's nice to meet you—listen, have you seen a man with brown hair and leather armor?"

"Well I've seen a man with brown hair. His name is Sq—."

"Squall. I know. He's not who I'm looking for."

"Then sorry. I haven't seen anyone else with brown hair besides you and Leon."

"Squall," the lass corrected her.

"Right. He changed his name because he was ashamed that he came from the world that created the Heartless."

"And Nobodys and Organization XIII."

"Yes."

"Well, lovely talking to you–we should have tea sometime–but I really need to be going—see you never." And she raced off. It was rude, she knew, but she found the Aerith character incredibly annoying (Mary-Sue! GAH!) "Maybe Merlin will know," she muttered to herself. She hurried past the Moogle shop and down the steps, into the Borough.

—————

She was jogging absentmindedly through the town and totally did not notice there was a person in her way until they ran right into one another. Ames was thrown to the ground. "Oh! I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," she apologized from her place on the ground.

"It's okay. I do the same thing sometimes. You all right?" the person extended a hand and helped her up.

"Organization XIII has new recruits?" Amy asked, taking in the other girl's black coat. Then her eyes widened. "Wait a minute...Inwë?!"

The other girl returned the shocked look. "Cap'n?!"

"I.."

"You..." They gaped at one another for a few moments. "I'm, uh...in the wrong fanfiction, aren't I?"

"Uh...Yeah. Know where you're going?"

"Not a clue."

This merited a laugh. "Well, good luck getting to...wherever."

"Yeah."

"Nice meeting you."

"Aye, same.."

"Oh, hey, um...have you seen James around anywhere?"

The other authoress twitched. "Norrington? No, I haven't. Good luck finding him, though. See you around." And Inwë disappeared in wisps of smoke similar in appearance to the destruction of a Shadow. _Hmm..._ thought the girl. _That was random..._

—————

"I'm sorry, Miss, I haven't seen your friend either. Perhaps you'll find him in the Bailey," advised Merlin.

"All right, I'll check there. Thanks."

"Good luck, young lady. Come and see me if you find him—I'll have something for you."

"Oh. Okay." She stepped out of the magician's house, thinking _Grreeeaaatt... finding James has become a sidequest,_ as she hurried around a bend to a sheer stone wall stretching maybe forty feet high. She raced up the stairway which scaled its height, taking them on all fours (as was a habit of hers) so as she could both get to the top faster and save her energy.

With few steps left to the top, the sounds of a struggle reached her ears. Someone cried out with effort as a sword could be heard swinging through the air. It landed a hit. "Graah! Come on! Who wants some?!" She poked her head over the wall to see James. Surrounded by Heartless (Kingdom Hearts monsters). "Form an orderly line and I'll have you all one by one—and no breaking rum bottles over my head this time!" ((Credit goes to TheDreamChild for that variation of the quote!)) He swung his sword in a wide arc, taking out several Shadows in its path, which dissolved into darkness and oblivion, only to be replaced by more. His other sword lay uselessly out of reach, likely because he had been taken by surprise.

"James!" She dashed out, grabbed the blade, and battled her way to him. The Shadows came in throngs. Even Soldiers and NeoShadows were joining the brawl. The humans stood back to back as the Heartless advanced. "I'm sorry. I should have told you about this stuff before we came. I just expected things to start out all peaceful."

"It's all right. But how do we beat them all?"

"I'm not sure. It's like The World That Never Was—they just don't stop coming. And our weapons don't seem to be doing as much damage as I'd like."

"And also, why is that _you're _the only one who got a new outfit?"

"What?" Everything stopped. Even the Heartless had ceased their attacks to stare at her. She looked down at herself. "Oh sweet! I got Sora's outfit! Well, forget this." She tossed the sword to James.

"Huh?"

She didn't bother explaining. Instead, she held out a glovéd hand, palm down, eyes closed in concentration. In a flash of light, Ultima Weapon appeared in her hand. "I'm kinda glad I had this equipped before we got here," she grinned, swinging the huge Keyblade in a lethal arc and taking out many. The battle raged on, and finally, as the ever-above-the-horizon sun peaked at its zenith, marking what would have been midnight in this world, the Heartless stopped coming. "Whew, that took forever."

"Yes." He leaned against a wall wearily, panting for breath.

"You okay?"

He regained his winds enough to answer, "I feel drained."

"Did they land a lot of hits?" He nodded, still at a loss for breath. She reached thoughtfully into one of the many pockets, pulling out a small cube which, upon exposure to the air, expanded and grew until it was a small glass jar filled with a sparkling, clear liquid, a gooey green star floating inside. She tossed it to him. "Drink this."

"What...?"

"It's a potion. Not the magical kind—it's just called that. It'll get your health points back up."

"Health points?"

"This game is built on a complex point system. For instance, your health and energy are measured in a certain number of points. Every time you take a hit, those points go down. And when they reach zero..."

"Oh. And this regains lost points?"

She shrugged. "Forty of them anyway. We can regain the rest when we stop off at a savepoint to record our progress."

"Here's an idea: how about I just stop asking?"

"Prolly a good idea."

He nodded, tipping his head back and emptying the jar of its contents. The glass dropped from his hand and shattered against the ground as he grimaced. "That is the most _bitter_ thing I have ever tasted!"

"I didn't really expect it to have a taste. Come on, there are fountains everywhere. You can wash the taste out there." She pointed the trusty Ultima Weapon at the shattered glass. "Magnega." A magnetic force-field appeared and all the shards were gathered together and repaired. Moments later, the jar flickered out of existence. "I always _did_ wonder what happened to them when they were empty. ...James?" He had disappeared from her side. She could hear him gargling and muttering to himself about 'horrid flavors' below. She sighed and giggled, jumping off the wall and down a series of ledges until she was by his side.

"Where to now?" he asked as he turned to face her, wiping his mouth on his fist.

"We should check in with Merlin."

"Merlin?"

"A wizard character in the game. Finding you had become a sidequest, and if I go and see him, we'll get some item or other that will help us out."

"I won't ask."

"Good. Now come on, it's just around the corner." She led the way, and soon they had reached the house, nestled in a corner between other buildings in the maze that was the town.

"There are parasols on the roof."

"It's a theme from the original play that was adapted into this part of the game."

"You mean movie?"

"Yeah. Glad to know you're getting the terminology, kid."

"...Right..."

"Well anywho, the game is like a medley of classic movies and a famous series of games."

"O...kay..."

She rolled her eyes in good humor. "Come on," and she led him inside.

"Ah. Good. You both have been reunited. Here, take this." The wizard handed her an old, long, battered dark red scarf.

Her eyes revealed an ever calculating mind as she observed it, then whirled around to face James—who was warily eyeing the swirling, glowing savepoint in the corner—crying, "It's perfect!"

"Whoa!" He hadn't been expecting her to wrap the item around his neck and pull him down to her level.

"In retrospect, I suppose I could have asked you to crouch for me, but it would have killed the mood!"

"And you never think before you act," he growled crossly as she wrapped the scarf twice around his neck and tied it in a knot. The remainder hung, one end in front of his shoulder, one end behind, at a length that was nearly to his hips.

"Like when we first met? You agreed to help us, and I hugged you right out of the blue." This got a smile out of him. She smoothed the scarf over his armor, a hand gently on his arm, once again taking in the worn leather. "You know, you would have taken a lot more damage if it weren't for this," she murmured.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

She shrugged, motioning for him to stand again. "It looks...complete. Quick, strike a pose!" With a _shhinng_, he had drawn both his swords and leaned down into a fighting stance, scarf-ends waving as he did. "Nice. You almost look like a Final Fantasy character."

"Er...is that good?"

She folded her hands behind her head. "Well...you blend in. That oughta preserve world order for just a little while longer, hey? I presume you know what's going on?" she addressed the wizard.

"Eh-what? I mean yes, yes! The war. And you," he looked to James. "Why look at you lad. You're the G–Oh, I can't say that, you see," he chuckled. "Can't go around revealing the future to everyone. Eh-that would be irresponsible!"

"Ah." James and Ames exchanged bemused expressions.

"Okay, now we need to find—."

"—find your friend, right? And you'll be needing a Gummi ship." James perked up and the word 'ship', and the lass was sure that if he'd been a cat (odd how she was always comparing him with cats), he would have pricked his ears. "Well you're in luck. Sora generously left the Highwind for you when he heard you were coming."

"How nice of him. Do you know where he is, that I can thank him?"

"He's visiting Pooh-bear again. It will probably be a while before he returns."

"Oh. Well can you thank him for me, then?"

"But of course."

"Thank you." She turned to her companion. "We're leaving soon, but first I want to go to the marketplace and stock up on supplies. They'll help us heal ourselves and enhance our fighting skills."

"Okay," he nodded. "And perhaps I can begin to understand what is going on. Or at least what I need to know so that I don't gouge my eyes out in frustration..."

"Good plan. I shall try to explain as best I can." He nodded with a small smile, and they headed out the door. They faced a handful of common Heartless (Morning Stars, Bookmasters, et cetera) on their way back to the marketplace, but there was no trouble taking them out. "Hey, Mog," she greeted what looked like a floating cream-colored teddy bear with a big red nose, a pompom in its head, and small purple bat wings. She handed him several shards and stones from her pockets. "I'ma need a few elixirs."

Within moments, the little creature had turned the items into several oddly-shaped golden flagons. "Here you go, Kupo!"

"Thanks." The bottles shrank into smaller shapes, and she pocketed them, turning with a nod to James toward the marketplace where she leaned against a wall, next to which gurgled a small waterfall (or fountain, what have you) which fell through the stones. These were common in Hollow Bastion. He opened his mouth to ask, with a wayward glance over his armored shoulder at the creature, but she beat him to it. "They're called Moogles, and they're a theme from the Final Fantasy games which have been integrated into this."

He blinked. "And what do they do?"

"They synthesize items like this," she summoned the Ultima Weapon, "as well as things that help out with health and magic, such as that last batch of elixirs. Heartless—those monsters we've been fighting—and Nobodys—which I'm sure we'll see soon—often drop items when they are destroyed, and those items are the ingredients needed to make certain items."

"You really know this stuff."

"I played the game nonstop. Now, we need to check how high our defenses are, what kinds of items we have, and which Abilities we have equipped."

"Abilities?"

Her eyes gleamed. "You'll see." She touched a finger thoughtfully to the crown necklace that had appeared round her throat with the outfit, and a large, translucent, glowing, screen-like panel appeared before them. She touched a few selections and checked their stats. "Oh cool, I still have all the Drive forms and Drive abilities and...holy crap, I can fly!" He blinked at her as she shivered with excitement, anticipating trying it out.

"Let's not forget the reason we came here, pet. Jack is here somewhere, remember? And we must save him."

"Right, right." She ventured into his abilities. "Hmm... Quickrun Max level...High-Jump Level two...Aerial Dodge level one...and _you_ don't even have any drive forms. Oh oh, and you have Aerora, Curaga, and Blizzagun! _Gun!_ That's impossible to get in this game!"

He stumbled. "What?" Poor James. So confused. "Should I ask?"

"Yes. This stuff is useful. You see, characters in the game have the ability to use elemental magic." His eyes suddenly found hers from where they had been roving about the town. _That_ got his attention. "Blizzagun is a powerful ice spell which shoots lethally giant snowflakes and ice crystals at the target. Aerora is defensive, and blocks most of the common attacks, as well as damaging anything that tries to jump on top of you. It uses wind, which surrounds you for a limited amount of time, and isn't actually featured in this game. And Curaga is a healing spell. 'Nuff said. Now," she pressed a few more places, "we only have a limited amount of magic. Every time you cast a spell, the points that record your magic will go down. In my case, Curaga will use up all of my magic, and it will take thirty seconds for the gauge that records it to recharge and refill."

"Thirty seconds is a lot of time in a battle."

"Don't I know it. Anyway, it looks like Heal takes a pretty big chunk out of your magic, too, and will only leave about ten MP—which is short for magic points, in case you were wondering."

"And I'll chance a guess that there are items can more quickly recharge this gauge?"

"Yes, as well as some abilities which we both have equipped." She stood, arms crossed. "Take out your swords." _Shhhiinnngg_. "Point them at..." she looked around for a reasonable target. "...this waterfall," she gestured behind her, hastily scooting out of the way. He obeyed. "Now, think about freezing it and say 'Blizzagun.'" He blinked. "Or 'Freeze' if you would prefer that."

He pointed the blades at the rushing water, their tips touching delicately. "Freeze," the former-Commodore growled. In an explosion of heat and light, Blizzagun fired from his swords with enough force that he was sent reeling backwards, and even the girl was pushed off her feet. They both stood and stared—Amy filled with awe, James shaken and surprised—and saw that the waterfall had frozen solid in sharp, dagger-like icicles, and an abundant coating of frost on the stone wall surrounding the site. "Well," was all he could manage in comment.

"Hey, if you're gonna freeze it, the least you could do was thaw it out again," came a slightly nasal voice familiar to the lass. They whirled around to face a young man with shaggy, typically animé brown hair, blue eyes, and a deep scar running across his typically attractive face, wielding what looked like a sword and a gun in one. "The plumbing in this place is really complicated, and if you mess with one thing, the whole town will be messed up."

"Oh. Well, sorry." Ames summoned Ultima once again, and took up a certain stance. "Fire!" Flames swirled around her, and the sudden application of such heat ensued a great cracking of the thick ice and an explosion as the pressure from the water that had backed up broke through the weak points. "There. So what have you been up to lately, Squall?"

He blinked at her. "You know my true name."

She stared back. "...Oh... Oh-oh yeah, you go by 'Leon' around here, don'cha? Tha's right. Forgot."

He regarded her carefully, shaking shards of ice from his shoulder. "You dress a lot like someone I know."

"Sora. Yeah. I know. Look, hate to be rude," _NOT! _her mind interjected, "but James and I really do need to be on our way." They began to walk off.

"Your friend is still learning his abilities, right?" James paused midstride, turning slowly to face the younger man.

"And if I am?"

"You should go speak to Cloud. He can help you to understand where your limits lie, and how to use your abilities if you're totally clueless." James frowned at the hint of laughter in his voice when he said 'clueless.'

"Right—we'll keep that in mind—come on, James," the lass tugged at his arm.

Once they were safely out of earshot, Ellie murmured to his juvenile companion, "Why the sudden rush?"

"I-just-... There's something about him—I mean, on a screen and totally detached from all interaction, I guess he's a pretty okay guy, but in person, I—there's just something about him I don't like." She led him back through the Borough. "I mean, I know I shouldn't judge him and all, and maybe if I actually _knew_ him, things might be different, but hey—teenager. I could kinda care less, y'know? Besides, it's not like we'll be needing him again, anyway." James rolled his eyes. They traversed back up the steps along that same wall. A short jog down the pathway atop said wall and through a large square doorframe led them to the Bailey, which at one point much, much earlier in the game, had been a stone room with barred window and gate before an explosion had collapsed the far side of the room. They strode to the cliffs created by the rubble to the ground a long way below. James gulped, looking down. "Trust yourself about landing. You'll be fine." He did a doubletake at her, obviously having his doubts. "Go on, go on. Trust me on this one." And she graciously shoved him over the edge.

He amazingly landed on his feet, and she floated to a landing beside him, throwing in a flip from her High-Jump ability to 'see what it felt like.' "I'm...not injured."

She nodded. "This game prevents players—that's us—from getting hurt unless damaged by an enemy and the like." Their eyes met. "This is an awful lot to take in, isn't it?"

He nodded with a sigh. "I'd never thought there could be such a thing as 'Realm-sickness', but it would seem that I have come down with it."

She patted him on the head. "I know how you feel. Believe me. As soon as we find Jack's laugh, we can be out of here. Back at the bayou, yeah?"

"Aye."

"With the trees and the water and the stillness."

"And Teacher," he added onto the list.

Her expressive eyes suddenly grew guarded, some unknown emotion smouldering within. Concern filled James when he noticed this. "Right. And Teacher. And the sooner we find Jack, the sooner we can get back. But you have to learn your abilities first in order for us to find him, savvy?" She slid her hand comfortingly into his. "So let's go find Cloud. He'll help us out."

He nodded, suddenly to weary to argue.

—————

They came upon this 'Cloud' in the rocky Great Maw, practicing with his sword—wait, let me correct myself: with his insanely huge ginormous zweihänder Buster-sword. Cloud was a fair young man with spikey blonde hair which, typical of animé, defied the laws of gravity. He wore a black sleeveless shirt, some piece of armor decorating his left shoulder, black boots, black gloves, and black trousers, what looked like a cape tucked into his belt and fitting around his left leg. A silver wolf's head decorated his random shoulder-armor. Ames squeaked beside James.

He gave her a sideward glance, eyebrow raised. "Are you quite all right, dear?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Excuse me while I have a fangirl moment."

"What?!"

"Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!" came the high-pitched squeal, which dissolved into a giggle fit and a deep blush before she took a deep breath and calmed herself, clearing her throat and folding her arms neatly behind her back. Norry stood at attention. "Mr. Strife," she called.

The blonde stopped mid-swing and turned to face them, mako-blue eyes looking them over with wonder. Wonder? Sephy had taken his toll. "Can I help you?"

"We're hoping you can," the lass replied with a quirk of an eyebrow to contradict her otherwise serious expression. She quickly explained, and Cloud began to train her nephew. After a time, she felt it necessary for herself to join in, having only experienced the abilities she possessed through a game controller. They spent hours and hours, until the sun was touching the eastern horizon, signaling dawn.

"I...think I may actually have this down," James finally said. Amy opened her eyes a crack from where she had been dozing. It was a sleepless world, and her mind had been a bit weary. "How much time has been spent in your world?"

"Likely only a few moments, either of gameplay or of a cutscene montage showing snippets of us learning how to 'play.'" She approached the Final Fantasy character. "Kuraudou—arigatou gozaimasu."

"Ie," he shook his head. "Don't thank me. I should be thanking you."

She was taken aback. "Well...why?"

"For helping my to defeat Sephiroth. The darkness would still be inside of me if it weren't for you." He bowed low. When he rose again, he found himself engulfed in a hug from the much shorter girl. (Final Fantasy characters are, by proportion, unreasonably tall.) He chuckled lightly, and a reader may imagine it is music to the ears of any listener, for indeed after such hard and dark times the boy had gone through, to hear him laugh would be enough to warm any heart. "Now go. Your friend might be in danger."

She released him to stare back. "But...how did you know _I_ helped you? I mean, what about Sora?"

Cloud shrugged. "Sora has said that you have guided him in his actions throughout his entire journey. So it was really you who decided to find Sephiroth and fight him. And it was you who beat him first."

She nodded, lost in thought and memory, then turned and rushed toward James. "Come on, we gotta go. Heartfelt moments like that make good cutscenes, and that's what will kill our time."

"Right." They headed off at a Quickrun back to Merlin's house.

"Okay, James, you see that glowey thingy?" she pointed to a swirling light in the corner of the wizard's abode.

"Yes."

"It is a Savepoint, where we will record our progress." She proceeded to step onto the spot, and the lights momentarily brightened and swirled with more flourish around her as she 'saved their file.' "However it also serves as a doorway to the Gummi Ship. Come on, get in here with me," she invited him with a sweep of her hand. Cautiously, ever wary, the former-Commodore joined her, and in a flash of light and a momentary floating sensation, they had arrived on the ship.

Or had they? "This doesn't look like a ship..." He looked around apprehensively. All these buttons and flashing lights—where were the sails? And the masts? And the anchor? A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him and he swayed where he stood.

"James?" she looked at him concernedly. "Are you all right?"

"It's...too much," he mumbled, a hand going to his head, suddenly short of breath.

"Easy...easy..." She led him to one of the seats. "Deep breath. Sit back, relax... Close your eyes and imagine you're back in the Caribbean. Pretend all the beeps and buzzing and other noise are the calls of birds and dolphins and creaking of rope and wood, and the breaking of waves on the hull. Pretend the movement you feel is the pitch and roll of a magnificent ship," she soothed softly. "That's right. Just take it easy." Leaving him to his mental imagery, she proceeded to start up the trusty Highwind, and they were off, traveling to the next world. Yes, Kingdom Hearts is a single Realm comprised of several different worlds.

While in gameplay, it took mere seconds for a player to zip from one world to another, it would take days within the game to reach their destination. After a few 'days' and several long, explanatory conversations, James had finally begun to calm and settle down. Stars whirled past them in a blur.

A few more 'days' passed, and finally something became visible off the starboard window. It was a darkened globe fitted with a red-bandana-wearing skull and cross-swords, and a dark, shadowed ship at its south pole. "The symbol for this place's version of your world. Don't get your hopes up, cuz it's pretty far off the mark." His hopeful expression was replaced with disappointment. "Aw, come on now. We'll have landed in a few minutes. At least there'll be the open sea again."

"There is that," he nodded.

They appeared in a place whose mirror image held many memories for Ellie—some good, some bad, and some just plain weird. The Rampart. Ames jumped over a couple of cannon and took the steps two at a time until she stood beneath the bell and arch, next to which James had proposed to Elizabeth, before which she had broken his heart and denied his love, and under which he had watched her declare her love for another man. None of this went through the girl's mind, however. The moon, ever-full and bright, bathed the Harbor and town in light. They were in Port Royal. Black water lapped at the shore. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow standing nearby, and turned to look. "Mister Turner."

The character blinked and came back to life. "Hello. Do you want to try the sliding plank again?"

"Um, maybe not." The character went back to staring blankly, still as a statue. She looked back over her shoulder to make sure James was with her again. "Oh. Well lookit you! Yer all dressed like a Commodore again!"

"And after all the trouble of growing back my beard," he complained good-naturedly. A pacing figure dressed in a yellow gown caught his eye, and suddenly forgetting himself, he strode quickly over. As soon as he saw her face and recognized her dress, he caught her in a frantic embrace. "Elizabeth! I'm so glad you're all right."

She stared blankly into his face. "Despite all that's happened, I'm still intrigued by life on the sea. I think I'd like to do some more traveling."

His eyebrows came together, his emerald eyes frantically searching hers for some trace of the person he knew. "Elizabeth?"

A hand lightly touched his shoulder, and he released the wench, who went right back to her pacing like nothing had happened. "She's not real. I told you that, remember?"

"I know. I...forgot myself for a moment is all." He turned to face the lass, blinking away his crushed hopes.

She looked him in the eye. "James, how come you never got gooey like that over her when we were at her house last time I was here?" He suddenly broke eye contact, looking at the ground as if ashamed. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Amy...the Elizabeth, Turner, and Governor that you met...none of them were real."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"I'll explain everything to you when you are older."

"Why not now?"

"Because there are details within the tale that would do better to wait, and what good is a tale without its details were I to tell you the rest? All you need to know is that Calyps—Tia Dalma created them to act as replacements in their steads."

She was silent, gaze growing distant. Her lips mouthed the word James had nearly said, then her eyes grew wide with realization and darted up to meet his. "Calypso! She _is_ Calypso! I was right! Geeze, and the movies haven't even come out yet. Boy, James, way to give out spoilers, huh! Oy!"

The wheels in his mind spun furiously. "Sorry. But if you make me tell you what's going on, there will be more 'spoilers' than you can count," he said generously.

"Oh snap! And now I won't be able to wait for the movies to come out! Aaahh!" she clutched her head humorously.

He sighed with forced reluctance. "Fine. If you want me to tell you so badly—."

"Nuuuu. No you don't! I won't let you tell me until the third movie has come out!" She groaned, wants disagreeing with her decision. "It's over a year and a half!" she wailed comically, throwing back her head. His eyes glowed with triumph. "Now c'mon. We've gotta find Jack!"

"Do you remember that rock formation in the claws?" he asked, eager to get off the subject.

"Yes. We need to get to the _Black Pearl_. She's docked in the harbor right now." She led the way down the steps from the fort to the ground, and James followed, pausing only once at the top of the stairs to glance back at the pacing figure.

As soon as their feet hit the ground, Heartless appeared. "Ah, back to just one sword," he sighed, drawing his weapon.

"And no armor, so every hit they land will give more damage."

"We'll see about that," he grinned, darting into battle with his Quickrun and unleashing Blizzagun, using the force of the powerful spell to vault himself out of the way before any Heartless could land a hit. She blinked—he was being really creative with his moves! The fight music variation on 'He's A Pirate' began to play. "You know, this music seems familiar," he mused as he slashed a Rabid Dog out of existence.

"It should. It's the most well-known theme on the Soundtrack—and it marks the very end of the first movie." She stabbed at an enemy, Ultima effortlessly obliterating left and right. Within moments, the Heartless stopped coming, and the music faded back into the calm background music. "How are you doing?"

"Fine, now that I understand how this all works."

"Good. Now come on, let's embark."

"Right." They hurried to the docks and aboard the ominous black ship. Immediately, even with no crew in sight, the _Pearl_ pushed off from its berth and set sail. The land soon disappeared over the horizon as the not-_Pearl_ sailed into the night.

"Up there," she pointed to a figure up on the quarterdeck.

"Is that—?"

"No. Deep breath. No. Hang in there, James. We're on our way." She flashed a comforting smile at him before turning and bounding up the steps to the helm. "'Ello Cap'n."

The familiar face turned to meet her gaze. "'Ello luv. Breezy, eh?" A map appeared before her, a dagger anchored in the mark that was Port Royal. She removed it and stuck it in a picture of a stone skull. "Isla de Muerta it is." The ship lurched into motion, sails flapping loudly in the wind. She looked up at the sky and sighed as the wind blew her hair out of her face.

She descended the steps, overly-large-yet-perfectly-fitting shoes clunking softly on the boards, and leaned on the bulwarks next to James, where they both stared in silence at the black waves lapping at the hull.

—————

"I don't know how long it will take for us to get there. Only a couple seconds in my world, but it could be _days_ inside the game before we get there," Ames explained later that night as she leaned against the chart table in the familiar captain's cabin.

"Days?" The night in this world was everlasting, the moon always up and always full.

"Or the equivalent of. You know what I mean. Anyway, I'm gonna tell you right now that there will be an ambush upon our arrival. There always is."

"Heartless?"

"Usually. We may have to deal with Gamblers, which are Nobodys. I won't explain further, since you're never gonna need this information again anyway."

"All right."

The sound of approaching bootsteps reached their ears, and they looked up as not-Jack swaggered through the door. He made a face at the Commodore, saying, "Don't remember inviting you," in his gruff, un-Jack-like voice.

"He's gone and turned pirate, Captain Sparrow. He's with me."

The pirate considered her, leaning back on one leg, a hand going to rest on the hilt of his cutlass. "Well seeing as I've had my fair share of help from yourself, I'll take it as I can trust you. But your Commodore friend had better not pull any funny business."

"Aye, Captain!" James saluted solemnly.

"Right. Need to get some rum in you," not-Jack muttered, walking back out, and leaving the two wondering why exactly he had come into the cabin in the first place.

—————

As it was, only what felt like a few hours passed before the Isle of the Dead came into view. "Look, look, there it is!" The background music jumped into its fight sequence. "Ahh, we've got company." Her Keyblade materialized in her hand.

James drew his own weapon. "Let's go." They leapt into action, James seeming to jump a second time off the air (Aerial Dodge) to avoid a hit, discovering that their enemies were indeed Gamblers (as for appearance, they looked eerily similar to the KKK outfits, only pink, gray, or purple, and without people inside, juggling cards and dice (ok, I'm not aiming to draw connections. It's just the first thing that came to mind when I was groping for a description o.O))

"Take them out quick, James, I don't have time to explain the effects of their attacks," she called to him as she slashed at one. She raised Ultima into the air above her head and cried "Thunder!" Bolts of lightning struck down several opponents. She heard James calling out the spell for Blizzagun and the spray of ice and wind as his attackers were frozen and disposed of. Within moments, the fighting was done. "Are we good?" He nodded, still holding his sword. "All right. Let's go find Jack." The not-_Pearl_ anchored at the island, near a savepoint. "We should save ourselves," she murmured, heading toward the light.

Moments later, she rejoined him. "Good. Are we ready to go and look for Sparrow's laugh?"

She sighed. "There is no loooking. You see that big rock right there? That's the one I saw in Teacher's claws."

"Then...now what?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I don't see any signs of life."

"Maybe it's there," he soothed. "Perhaps we just need to look." Her eyes were hollow, her expression placid, as she was lost to the depths of her thoughts. She was silent. James examined her. Was she afraid? Afraid of what they might find? Or what they might _not_ find?

"It...it couldn't hurt to look around, I guess," she managed after a while, suddenly wondering what was wrong with her. Norrington nodded his understanding, placing a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "I want to go alone," she said suddenly. "Stay here. 'Do us all a favor—I know it's difficult for you—but please, stay here, and try not to do anything–stupid.'" He blinked. What a time to be quoting Jack.

"I'll be right here," he assured her, and she turned and strode toward the stone. She reached out and touched its rough, porous surface as if to steady herself, and slowly, slowly began to look around, a feeling of dread creeping sluggishly up her spine with each step. She circled the rock on the side that had land, swam on the side that didn't, unleashed several attack combos and exhausted her magic trying to see if, perhaps, he was stuck _inside_. Frustrated, exhausted, and beginning to panic, she finally slid to her knees, leaning a shoulder against the accursed formation, tears streaming stubbornly down her cheeks.

James dared to ignore her orders that he stay put and stepped forward. She found herself in his embrace—his wonderful steady, comforting, healing embrace—and her weapon de-materialized in a flash of light. He softly shushed her sobs, gently petting her hair. "He's not here," she whispered softly.

* * *

All right. The next chapter is finished, and I'm still working a little on the rewrite of chapter two, but after that, I think I'll be taking a short break from this story to continue with Fears Known and Unknown. Hopefully working on a different project will help me to break through my writer's block. I know, I know–it's been a while since I got writer's block, but hey, these things happen. Too late at night to update, and for that I am sincerely sorry. I shall export and edit some other time. 

Thank you all. Kindly review.


	16. Atlantica!

Okay, okay, so I'm like a day behind schedule. No big deal, right? Don't answer that. It was still like two weeks, so...yeah. You know? Anywaffles, I do have good news: chapter seventeen finally started, and while it's taking a while to get going, once I get past the beginning the sailing should be a lot smoother (oo, pirate pun!) Yayy!

Oh, oh, and I think you will ALL be happy to know that I rewrote chapter two! No more of all that unnecessary junk. -sweatdrop- And you all have my apologies for ever posting it in the first place. If any of you want to reread, it's just a click away (though sadly, re-reviewing needs several clicks and a logging-in to PM it, you know?) Thank you for staying with me regardless! You all rock!

Oh, and thank you all for your patience, support, and reviews!

**Authoressinhiding:** Yes, you really should. I know it's fun to be confused, but it's almost equally fun to get it! XD

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Aha, you ask a very good question. Well, you see, number one: the trailers were out by then. Number two, there was that one scene where Jack and Tia Dalma reunite—and that one was online prior to the movie's debut. A lot prior (Woo for bad grammar). Yay for fangirly moments, and omgpokemonthatstotallyweirdbutatthesametimerellyfunny! o.0; Thanks for the review!

**Destinysway114:** En garde! (Isn't it totally weird how similar to the KKK Gamblers look? I mean REALLY! 0.o)

**TheDreamChild:** Er... Yeah, says the bio, but if he were that short, he would be unreasonably thin. Just going by proportion, you know? Anywaffles, I'd rather take an unreasonably tall Cloud to an unreasonably thin one. You got me? "Norrington likes it, though he's still touchy about being Jack's adoptive brother. He'll get over it." So you said in your first review. I just felt I should ask: does he still like it? And is he still touchy? Or had he come to terms with another Authoress's plotting? XD

**ArmoredSoul:** Aww, but it was so cute being comforted by you, mate! But yeah, you're right, it is a little creepy. Like that uber-sweet face James attempted to make in a previous chapter. xp

**marauder4ever:** Ahh, finals. Does it not feel absolutely wonderful to be free from them? Good riddance, says I!

**Jess is a pirate:** I said your penname out loud just randomly, and now I'm getting strange looks. Well, from my cat anyway. Eheh... OMGFANGIRLMOMENTSQUEEEEEEEEEE!!! Oki. It's true! Aerith equals MarySue!

**RespectTheSporks:** Ahh! Oh noes, you've found me out! I'm sorry (wait, a pirate isn't sorry—what am I _saying?!_) It's just...its soo _shiny!_ Oooo, shinies... Glad you're captivated, mate. (Whatever gets me more gold. XD)

**Stormwake:** Yeah, but the Gummi Ship wasn't a good experience for him. Poor lad. Don't worry, there're at least a _couple_ more chapters on the way. Writer's block can't tie me down _that_ easily! It's not that I need a rampaging plot bunny—I got one of those around chapter ten and thus defined the story with the awesome plot it now has—I just need to get back in the mood for writing, savvy? Yay! School's out!

**Disclaimer****: Authoress: -sniffsniff- -sniffsniff- Ooh... a franchise!  
****Jerry Bruckheimer: -shoots- ...My franchise.**

**Chapter Sixteen: Bring Me That Horizon**

James closed his eyes and hugged her more tightly. "Shhh... Are you certain?"

"I've checked around that rock in every way possible," she said, frustration agitating her voice. "And I can't feel him here. And there's this nagging voice in the back of my mind—whom I have named Nagcules—what says we're barking up the wrong tree."

"Woof," her companion replied. She glanced up at him, a watery grin on her face. "Do you think that we are in the wrong Realm altogether?"

"I don't know. We should get back to the Gummi Ship and _then_ we'll see."

"Right. We need to get away from this place." She looked up at him, eyebrows raised in question. "I don't like this place. The sea is dead. The winds are different. And the night does not give way to dawn."

"I know. I understand. Let's get outta here. The Savepoint is right there." Moments later, they were back aboard the Highwind, drifting lazily in space. Hours passed, merely fleeting moments in the outside world, before the girl had calmed enough to open her heart and mind, reaching out for Jack's presence. Through the crushing disappointment she still felt, and the growing loss of hope as more time passed, a sudden bubbly sensation tickled her insides. Her breast and stomach filled with a tingling, excited, wonderful feeling, which spread throughout the entirety of her being. Gone was her present sadness. Restored were her hope and spirit. A giggle escaped her lips, which had formed the curve of a delighted smile. Norrington put a once-again-armored arm gently round her shoulder, and she turned to him, a hand over her heart. "He's here!"

A hearty laugh filled the ship, and he lifted her up and swung her in an excited arc, crying, "That's wonderful! Do you know how we will find Brother?"

She twitched, never having heard her dearest refer to his adoptive sibling in that manner, then answered, equally excited, "There's bound to be another rock in this Realm looks the same!"

"Any idea where it is?" he asked more calmly, regaining his composure and setting her down.

She put a hand to her chin, elbow resting in the palm of the other, in typical Sora-like thought. "Well, we should prob'ly check places that have a lot of rocks and such first. And places by or in the sea might help."

"Are there any worlds that have both qualities?"

"There is one," she murmured, taking her seat and adjusting their course. "To Atlantica we go!"

"What's in Atlantica?"

"SQUIRRELS!" He crossed his arms, leaning against the control panel (kinda like a dashboard, really), eyebrow raised. "Okay, maybe not squirrels, but it's a nice little world, and no Heartless or Nobodys to speak of!"

"Well that's good."

The skip kicked it into full gear. "I should probably tell you now so that we don't panic later that this world is almost entirely underwater. We _will_ be able to breathe underwater, so don't worry."

——————————

A much shorter ride later, the Atlantica icon came into view. "We're here." She maneuvered the ship nearer to land, but a powerful force pushed them violently away, an invisible barrier glowing momentarily green upon their impact.

"What happened? Why can we not land?" James demanded, picking himself up where he'd been thrown to the floor.

"The gateway has been closed. We're definitely in the right place."

"Well how do we open this gate?"

"We have to fight our way through the route, shooting down opposing Gummi Ships that will be attacking us. Don't worry, I can get us through this. Invincible Peak level will help. Don't ask. Just strap in and **hold on!!**" She pressed the controls forward and they took off.

"Whoa! You could at least wait for me to obey your orders!" ...Poor James...

They dove into the random doorway floating in the middle of nowhere, and music began to play. Islands floated by, all seeming to hang in midair. Water was all over, in bright blue ponds and waterfalls, and everything was lit now as if by the sun. Almost instantly, alerts started flashing, and beeping and buzzing. Ames expertly maneuvered the controls to meet and fire down opposing Gummi Ships that were trying to attack. Few landed hits.

After a while, a green Gummi appeared, shaped like a dragonfly. "Boss-ship! It'll land a lot of hits!" she called to James in warning. "Don't worry, I can beat it." The Highwind's lazers shot nearly nonstop. Within moments, the thing exploded. "Wow, that was almost too easy."

"Less talking, more shooting!" he pleaded nervously.

"Fine!" Fish-like creatures were flying out of the water and firing circles of what—super sonic or something? The girl flew through the rings like a border collie on an agility course and shot down the enemies at close range. "Haha! Eat laser, fishface!" Three more of those strange dragonflies appeared, all ganging up on the Highwind. While they landed many hits, they also gave off many health-restoration points when she destroyed them. Volleys upon volleys of other ships came after them. The girl was unperturbed, firing effortlessly. It payed to be obsessed with a video game! More fishies and dragonflies attacked, and it seemed like they were getting easier and easier to take down. The other weaker ships then came in seemingly unending throngs and went down in similar numbers. Finally, what looked like a keyhole of light appeared and they soared through.

"All right," the girl sighed, adrenaline sending tremors through her body. "That was fun."

"Speak for yourself," James panted, prying his fingernails from the cushions on his armrests.

"Aww. Sorry." She gave him a quick hug as he stood. "Ready to land?"

"Hmph—as ready as I'll ever be," he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

"That's a yes!" she cried giddily, simultaneously pressing a button. The two disappeared in a flash of light.

———————————

James had to blink his eyes several times before he realized he was deep under-water. He tried to kick out with his legs toward the surface, where sunlight easily and brightly permeated the sea, only to do a barrel roll and realize that something was indeed not right. He looked down at himself to find a bare chest—but for the armor on his left shoulder and a shell necklace he did not recognize—and beyond that, what looked like a porpoise's tail, black on the back, white on the underside, and with yellow stripes down either side, a dorsal fin on his back. "A little warning never hurt, Amy," he complained.

"Well at least I let you know you can breathe under water—else that would have been ugly," her voice replied.

"Where are you?"

"Ehh..." What, did she not want him to find her or something?

"Come on out, dear, I'm sure whatever is it that has you concerned isn't as bad as you think."

"Says you. At least _you_ don't have to worry about covering anything up, Mister _Man_."

He put two and two together and his eyed widened. "You mean you're n—"

"No!" Several bubbled escaped from behind a rock. He clumsily began to make his way over. "But what I've been adorned with falls short of modesty by, like, a million leagues."

"I'm sure it is fine," he reassured her.

"Well...don't say I didn't warn you..." He gulped. Amy slowly, carefully swam out from behind the rock. Her lithe upper half was completely naked, but for two large, dark green scallop shells, which covered anything important. Her face was set in a deep blush, and her legs had merged together to form a rich, dark blue-green fish tail. "Stupid Disney..." she grumbled, crossing her arms protectively when James returned the blush.

"It...it looks good on you, dear," he managed sincerely. "A mermaid then? What does that make me?" He wiggled his porpoise-tail.

"I...don't..._know_." She gave him a long, scrutinizing stare. "Uhh...Dolph-man?"

"Porpoise, actually, I think," he smiled. "And I don't suppose this 'Disney' likes my appearance very much either. I mean...my chest hair is missing."

Amy giggled. "Your beard is gone, too."

His hand shot to his chin. "Again?!" She laughed harder, uncrossing her arms, accepting that this was the way it would have to be. His gaze lingered fondly. "You must be quite popular with the lads back in your world."

She laughed again. "Good one! Oh wait, you were serious? See, the thing is, Disney and Square-Enix have me all dolled up right now. Back home, I really don't give a darn about the way I look. And aside from that, I'm pretty much of a arse to every guy I know or have to interact with. I dunno if you noticed it, but guys from my time pretty much aren't worth my spit."

He chuckled. "And that's exactly the spirit Elizabeth had around the time that I proposed. There was but one she preferred, and all others were meaningless in those terms."

It interested her that he could talk about something like that with such ease. "Well...you know...I think it's kind of true...I mean...there's someone I'm kind of waiting for... And as far as I can see...he is the only one worth my affections," she said haltingly, hesitantly, revealing her most cherished of all secrets.

"So then you know a worthy lad after all."

"Well, I wouldn't say _know_, exactly... I just have occasional dreams about him, and I just kind of _know_ he's the one, you know? I mean, I haven't met him, haven't heard of him, haven't had any indication whatsoever that he even exists, but I know he's out there. And we'll find each other one day and that will be that."

He put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure you two will find each other one day."

"I'm not so sure. Lately, I haven't been able to imagine him as clearly."

He gave her a long, contemplating look, before soothing, "Perhaps it's because you've had no one but Jack on your mind."

"You're right. And I think it should stay that way until Jack is safe." Somewhere deep in her heart, something hurt. Nights would be long and lonely without her Dream-boy to imagine as she very slowly fell asleep.

"Speaking of whom, it might be wise to begin our search."

"Nope," she surprised him. "We need to learn how to swim. And learning to swim and learning to dance are apparently the same in this world, so we'll have to do a little musical and with a song." They were in a deep, circular—well, it looked kind of like an undersea courtyard, really, constructed from blue and tan coral, all sorts of structures and formations jutting out from the walls. There were colourful plants and giant shells of all shapes and sizes on the floor. On top of a rather table-shaped coral 'rock' sat a large, green sphere, a pair of eighth-notes floating inside. "Over there." She clumsily began to make her way over, James trying to follow, and they swam up to the ball. A crab—Sebastian!—swam up to them. "Hi. Uh, we're kinda new around here, and need to learn to swim."

"New unda de sea? We'll teach ya ta swim," the bright red Little Mermaid character assured them. "Just follow de beat, and you'll be swimmin' like pros in no time!" Steel drums began to play, and the two bobbed with the rhythm. It was a song most readers will know. Come on, you know you want to sing along:

"_De seaweed is always greener—in somebody else's lake.  
__You dream about going up there—but that is a big mistake.  
__Just look at de world around you—right here on de ocean floor.  
__Such wonderful things surround you—what more is you lookin' for?"_

Sebastian was conducting several crustaceans, cephalopods, and gastropods and other such sea dwellers which played shell-instruments. A bright yellow fish with blue stripes—Flounder!—was bobbing in front of them, moving his tail back and forth to the beat, in an exaggerated way such that the two could pick up how they were supposed to be moving. The two exchanged a glance, then, with a couple of shrugs, began to get the feel for tail movement.

"_Under the sea—under the sea!  
__Darlin' it's better—down where it's wetter—take it from me!  
__Up on the shore they work all day—Out in the sun they slave away,  
__While we devotin' full time to floatin'—Under the sea!"_

Their movements became less tentative, and they swam small distances or circles around one another.

"_Under the sea—under the sea!  
__Since life is sweet here—we got the beat here—naturally!  
__Even the sturgeon and the ray—they get the urge 'n' start to play.  
__We got the spirit—you got to hear it!—Under the sea!"_

James and Ames had joined hands and were dancing jauntily to the beat, whirling around and doing flips, beginning to get the hang of it and just have a blast.

When snails came in as female backup singers in the final chorus, the two seafolk broke apart, jamming and dancing. There was a silent challenge to a dance-off, which soon turned into a dance-with as the two rejoined for more pwnful dancing.

_Under the sea—(under the sea)—Under the sea—(under the sea)  
__Where the sardine—begin to beguine—it's music to me!  
__What do they got? A lot of sand—We got a hot crustacean band!  
__Each little clam here—know how to jam here—under the sea!  
__Each little slug here—know how to rug here—under the sea!  
__Each little snail here—know how to wail here  
__That's why it's hotter—under the water  
__Yah, we in luck here—down in the muck here  
__Under the seeeeeeeeaaaa!!_

"You've got it!" Sebastian cried, ceasing his conducting as the song ended.

Amy swam in a fast arc, throwing in a couple of flourishes and barrel rolls. "Much better. Thanks a lot, mate."

James did a quick lap around the pool, darting through a circular formation and over and under ledges jutting out, just to, uh, make sure he had it down. Yeah, let's go with that. Good excuse—I mean LOOK! A DISTRACTION!—Ehh...eheh...heh... Sorry about that. On with the plot... "Right," he said as he floated to a stop beside her. "Where to now?"

A finger went to her chin. "I think...to the surface."

They both turned their faces upward to eye said surface, light shimmering upon them in bright rays, eloquently disturbed by ripples of water. "Okay. And where from once we're up there?"

"To shore." They darted to the top, breaking through the barrier between sea and air. They dove over, under, and through the waves, toward the dark line on the horizon that was land.

——————————

James dragged himself onto the sandy beach beside the lass, panting for breath. His exhaust was an illusion of a weary mind, however, for in the game this would not have tired either of them out. "The sun is warm," he mumbled softly, lying on his back, head resting on his arms.

"Why don't we just both take a break and relax? We know that Jack is here, and there's no danger in this world, so why rush, eh? Besides, it'll take absolutely no time at all in the real world, even if we just sit here for days."

"Let's keep the unit to hours, if you don't mind," he mumbled with a yawn. She nodded, laying down beside him. Hours indeed did pass, and James stirred from his dozing. The tide was coming in, lapping at their sun-dried fins and cooling the heat. The girl still dozed beside him, having sunken to the deep barely-conscious line between slumbering and dozing, head turned away, hair spread out. It was wavy where her hair had been tied back in a tight, neat ponytail when she had been in Sora's outfit, a couple strands of hair framing her face in previous worlds. There was a deep, dark purple flower tucked in just above her ear (how they would have gotten a flower underwater only Squeenix would know). His eyes wandered from her hair to her stomach, where the scabs from the hippogriff incident had given way to scars. He traced them with his own fingers, almost as if miming the attack were by him, leaning over her and casting a shadow on her reddened face. The scar on her right arm—the arm farthest from him—caught his memory, and he looked to examine it. It was ragged and messy from where the demon had tried to keep his blade there while she herself had struggled to fight it off, but it had healed nicely. But still—she was only fifteen. How long before one of these was fatal? He pushed away the thought and proceeded to tickle her stomach.

She writhed and swatted him away, eyes popping open as she bolted to a sitting position. "Aww, James, I was having the nicest dream!"

"Oh? What about?"

"I—." She broke off, brows coming together. "I don't remember. But it was a good one nonetheless!"

He chuckled, rustling her hair. "I think we've relaxed enough, don't you?"

"Sure. Let's find Jack."

"Do you remember the rock structure?"

"Yes." Something just off shore caught her eye and she looked pointedly at it. "And I think I've found it, too." The waves of the tide crashed over her, and she allowed them to tug her off the beach. James followed, and the luxuriously cool water closed around them. She dove beneath the surface and swam quickly to a rather large, almost completely-submerged rock.

"By G-d, it's identical," James murmured beside her.

She nodded, mane billowing around her in the water, eyes never leaving the structure. "The main character of this story would sit atop the rock and sing, and her prince would come."

"Well...would it make sense, then, for you to do the same?"

She shrugged. "Worth a try..." They floated back to the surface and she sat atop the rock. The Davy Jones theme was hummed softly as a warmup before she broke into a song that was certain to draw Jack from any corner of the Earth:

"_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

_We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot,  
__Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!  
__We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot,  
__Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!  
__Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

_We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack,  
__Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!  
__Maraud and embezzle and even hijack,  
__Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!  
__Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

_We kindle and char, we inflame and ignite,  
__Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!  
__We burn up the city, we're really a fright,  
__Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!  
__Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

_We're rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves,  
__Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!  
__We're devils and black sheep, we're really bad eggs,  
__Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!_

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me—_I love this song! 'REALLY—BAD EGGS', hahah!" She found herself laughing. Normally, she could say that line with a straight face (and even go on to recite the rest of the scene in a decent drunk impression), but now... _Good, his Laugh must be on the way._ She jumped right into another song.

"_What do we do with a drunken sailor?  
__What do we do with a drunken sailor?  
__What do we do with a drunken sailor  
__Ear-lay in the mornin'?_

_Way-aye, there she rises,  
__Way-aye, there she rises,  
__Way-aye, there she rises,  
__Ear-lay in the mornin'."_

A gray dorsal fin broke through the surface, surging toward them.

"_Chuck 'im in the longboat 'til he's sober,  
__Chuck 'im in the longboat 'til he's sober,  
__Chuck 'im in the longboat 'til he's sober,  
__Ear-lay in the mornin'._"

The dorsal fin and attached creature suddenly sped up, and James hastily scooted out of the way so as it wouldn't hit him.

"_Way-aye, there she rises,  
__Way-aye, there she rises,  
__Way-aye, there she rises,  
__Ear-lay in the mornin'."_

A mass was beginning to rise to the surface, and finally, a magnificent specimen of dolphin shot out of the water, flying over her in a graceful arc, water flying everywhere in sparkling droplets. It resurfaced a good distance away and frolicked through the waves back to her. He poked his head out of the water, grinning playfully at her. She tapped his nose with a finger, giving him a knowing look. "Drink up, me hearties, yo ho." The dolphin threw his head back playfully before twisting around and swimming over to inspect James.

"Hello, Jack." The magnificent manifestation nudged him in the chest, before presenting his dorsal fin to him.

Ames slid off the rock and joined them. "Eh..what's he doing?"

James contemplated him for mere moments before he suddenly grabbed on. "This!" And they were off! The dolphin pulled him around faster than he could ever have swum, faster even than he ever could have sailed. They returned, and Laughter turned to the lass, presenting its dorsal fin in much the same manner. Their fun went on for a good while. "I, ah," James paused to pull the girl up beside him so they were both on the same side of the surface. "I think we ought to check in with Teacher and ask her what we should do."

"That's a ten-four, good buddy. I'm way ahead of you." He blinked, steadying her body in the current with his own as her eyes grew blank and distant. _"Sensei?"_

"_So soon, chil'?"_

"_There is a difference in how quickly time passes. We've found Jack's Laugh. It is manifested in a dolphin. What should we do with it—should we bring him back?"_

"_Tell me first about the world it is in."_

"_Hai."_

——————————

Her consciousness floated back to Atlantica, where the sensation of floating and the warmth of a body hugging her own once again washing over her. She snuggled against the sturdy chest of her companion in signal that she had returned. "Ready to go back?"

"Are we bringing our new friend?"

"No. Since there's no danger here, we'll leave him, and come back for him when the time is right." A thought hit her. "Let's go back to the Undersea Courtyard and save everything we've made progress-wise. Lord knows it's important that we do!" They returned, and a light suddenly appeared before her. She reached out and caught it, opening her fingers to see what it was: a golden, dolphin-shaped keychain. Her eyes widened. "I got a new Keyblade!" she cried, quickly summoning her Ultima Weapon and switching out the keychains. The long, intricate, flowing, Life Stream-like shapes that made up the Ultima disappeared, and in place of those were twisting, swirling, elegant strands of water and sea and foam, red, orange, and gold laid into the detail here and there, as if a wave crashing against the shore, or a fountain shooting into the air, had been frozen. "Ooo, shinies!" she murmured in a high voice, eyes huge. It was called, predictably, 'Bring Me That Horizon.' And it was incredibly powerful, said the stats in the game. "Saving now! Aaahh!!"

After a few moments, she returned to James' side. "Shall we return home?"

"Right. Back to the bayou." Her hand sought his, and in a burst of purple water, they disappeared. They resurfaced in the warm water of the familiar swamp. Right off the bat, Ames knew something was off.

"Amy," James breathed beside her. "We're still water folk." With a gasp, a hand going to her mouth as she glanced down, she realized it was true. The shack was a few feet away, and the door creaked open and shut. They looked up to see Tia Dalma.

"What is wrong?" she asked softly, eyes glinting as if she already knew the answer.

"This." They both showed off their tails. "This is the way we were in the last world."

"Yes. ...You mus' have move' too quickly for de world border restore ya humanity."

"Then how do we get back to normal?"

"Wait. De world take care of it in moments. But be warned: 'twill be very painful process." The two exchanged apprehensive expressions, swallowing loudly.

"Well that sounds just pleasant, don't it?" the lass drawled in caustic tones. Obviously she found the situation bleak.

"You wait here." Yeah, like they could go anywhere. "I will go prepare somet'ing for de pain." She returned inside, and it seemed that the slam of the door was the signal for the change to begin. The lass cried out in surprise as pain shot through her lower half, suddenly sinking beneath the surface when she could no longer keep herself vertical. James was busy biting his fist to keep from yelling out, but at one point, he hauled her back up to the air for fear she would end up drowning. They braced themselves back to back as their 'restoration transformation' continued.

Fins tore in two. Legs reshaped. And James was glad for the cover of the water when the change rendered him momentarily without garment. "Amy," he panted, voice shaking and cracking, "if you want to preserve any modesty at all, I suggest you stand lower in the water." Thankfully, clothing followed flesh, shroud and armor reappearing. And finally, everything stopped. He took her trembling form in his arms as they both struggled to regain their winds.

"Ow," the girl giggled giddily, shakily. James rubbed her back comfortingly. "Note to self: get back on the Gummi Ship _first_ and _then_ poof back home."

Tia returned after a few minutes, a knowing glint in her eyes through her otherwise placid features, and floated down the ladder, a wooden goblet cupped in her hands. The man opened his eyes, again emerald with the excitement, breathing ragged and irregular. "Here, drink 'dis." Neither moved—both knew that if they did, pain would shoot through their limbs. "You must, or de pain will remain wit' you for days." She offered the cup again. The young girl stared at it for a long time, mustering up her courage, then gingerly reached for it and gulped down some of its contents. She held it up to her nephew, who threw his head back and downed the remainder, regardless of the agonies his sudden action had caused.

Minutes—long, painfilled minutes—passed, and the girl dared to break their embrace. "It's going away," she said softly as she turned back to Tia Dalma. "Well of course it is!" she suddenly replied to herself. "Why wouldn't it?"

James chuckled tentatively and rustled her hair. "It is time we return to ya trainin'," Teacher announced. "Mista Norrington, we'll be needin' a bucket fill' wit' clams, pair o' sheep shears, and a squirrel. Can y'fetch 'dem?"

"And how, exactly, am I supposed to catch a squirrel?" he demanded incredulously.

"You are creative man, yes? T'ink up a way, and you will succeed." One of his hands went to the hilt of one of his swords. "And we'll be needin' it alive." He deflated with a roll of his eyes. "And soona' is betta 'dan latah, if ya please, Mista Norrington."

"I'm going, I'm going," he sighed, wading sorely off to fetch the rowboat.

"... What's the squirrel for?" the lass inquired curiously once he was out of earshot.

"Keep him busy an' outta de way. Now, le's return to ya studies." The mystic turned and strode back inside. Ames blinked and followed.

* * *

All righty then. So there you have it. Eleven pages. Jack's Laugh is back, too, so no complaining. Oh, oh! And I actually edited it this time! Yay!

Anybody allergic to cats? If so, take something for it before you read the next chapter—I mean...ohnoesspoilers! Er... Yeah...

-sigh- Please review.


	17. Into the Wild

Nguhh... So I was rereading Hoofin' It a while ago, and I realized how nauseatingly mushy the last chapters were. Why didn't somebody comment? AUGH! Word to the wise: NEVER listen to emotional/inspirational music when writing important chapters! Gah!

So omg! Sorry for taking so long to update! I mean it's been a month and a day, right? Well, would you believe I actually had this chapter finished within a week of my last update? Yeah. But I was attending a Presbyterian Youth Conference in Montreat, North Carolina (twelve hour trip! - ) so I couldn't update. And then after that, horse camp started and I was SO BUSY! It wasn't cool. I mean it was: wake up, ride, ride again, eat lunch, get pissed off at small children (I'm not a kid-person), go home, shower, eat, nap, eat dinner, and sleep. I mean I was like too tired to go on the 'net, right. It's like I wasn't interested at all, you know? Not cool. So and this chapter is really long, right? Like thirty-four-and-a-half pages in my journal (four pages longer than the last really long one! It's a new record!!). And it took me like three days to type it all up. (Only because I'm busy/lazy XD ) But hey, here's an update!

And since it's such a long chapter anyway, I don't want to bother you all by replying to _every single review._

**MrsKurda14: **You're new! That merits its own reply by far!  
**Little Miss Sparrow:** Bored? Every time I'm down I look at that review. It always cheers me up. Bored, what a silly idea. What's wrong with getting strange looks? I LIVE for strange looks!!  
**RespectTheSporks:** It doesn't matter if you have long chapters or short chapters—as long as you feel good about it and had fun writing it, that's what it's all about. Savvy?  
**Authoressinhiding: **Interesting assumption, but I think you will be pleasantly surprised.  
**Stormwake:** No, not actually a plot device. Just getting into personal detail with my main character is all. Perhaps a little _too _personal. o.0  
And thanks also to **TheDreamChild, Destinysway114, Jess is a pirate, **and **ArmoredSoul. **You are all appreciated.

**Disclaimer** Jerry Bruckheimer, J. K. Rowking, Tetsuya Nomura, and now Erin Hunter have all had their shots at me for 'sniffing' out their franchises. -sniffsniff- -sniffsniff- Oh no...

So enjoy the kitteh chapter! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! -chases tail- -readers roll their eyes-

**Chapter Seventeen: Er...Meow?**

Nearly a month went by, during which finding another manifestation of Jack's had not been a main priority. Tia Dalma had explained that traveling across any other Realms but their two would only quicken the unraveling of World Order. (Their own Realms were naturally very close, so the frequent travel between them was not problematic) So, while they waited for enough time to pass for the worlds to maintain their separation, Ames continued to learn about her magic and how it worked. She was still incredibly tentative about doing some things—such as turning one of those clams into a rabbit (which very nearly ended very badly...)—but at least the simple things were coming to her with more ease.

Teacher finally came to her one day, declaring, "I think I know ya element."

"Is it meat-vision? I really hope it's meat-vision," the teen queried comically, stomach growling.

"Chil'," Tia said more softly, a fond smile spreading across her face—and for some reason this change of tone got the girl's attention. "Your element is imagination."

Pause. "...Heh?" She didn't understand. Neither did James, for that matter—his jaw jutted out in annoyance at his own confusion as he looked from one to the other.

"You are able ta do things as you imagine 'dem. D'ere is no specific t'eme to ya skills as there are for other elements. An' likewise very little limitation."

"Limitation?"

James sighed, closing his eyes for just a moment. "What exactly is the extent of her power?" he asked, nearly the same as Will had concerning the contents of a certain chest.

"You spoke of 'Aut';oress Powahs' once, chil'. The ability t' manipulate on''s surroundin's a' seen fit, wit'out disruptin' de balance and nat'ral flow o' de Realm."

Ames eyes widened. "...Oh." _Messing with canon without messing with canon_, she suddenly thought to herself. _...Real life canon._

"It is more common kind of sorcery," Tia explained. "Ver' powahful."

James' brows came together apprehensively. "If they are so powerful, then why do we not seem to be worried that there are others using their power against our cause?"

Teacher looked at him directly, gaze boring into him as if searching for something lying beneath his surface. He was back in his naval brocade—dirty, beginning to tatter, but a familiar comfort nonetheless. He had changed into it as soon as he heard they would not be traveling the Realms for a while. He looked a pirate again, actually, except cleaner and with a better-trimmed beard. "Few see it to its full potential."

"Has it been long enough for us to go and find another part of Jack?" the girl asked in a developing natural British accent (it came from hanging around Brits so often. Honestly!) She was beginning to get antsy.

"Have you had any more dreams lately?" her nephew asked.

Over the past couple of weeks, Amy had been having very strange dreams—strange in that they were reoccurring, and strange in that they actually didn't make sense to her, yet were surprisingly vivid. The last time she'd had such a vivid dream, Johnny Depp had been a werewolf and she'd had to train him like a dog. She had also had to give him a Mowhawk. ...And...her dreamboy had been there. But in these dreams, there was no dreamboy, there was no Johnny Depp (oh wah...) She had lain in a forest, trees stretching tall all around her, branches blocking the nearly black night sky but for one large gap, through which moonlight and starlight had shone on her, and she had felt warmed as though by the sun. She hadn't moved at all; merely lain on her back, gazing up at the moon and stars.

At least... that's the way the dreams had been when they first started coming. Soon, whispered voices had begun to call out to her. But they had spoken in a tongue she did not recognize, and she had been unable to understand what they said. As the dreams continued to come, night after night or close to it, she began to vaguely feel and acknowledge that she was still asleep. It was after this that she had told James and Tia Dalma. It was just too strange to ignore. "I had another one last night," she replied quietly, gazing off into space And she proceeded to describe it in short, stuttering statements as she groped for the right words. This one had been different. She had lain on her back, listening to the distant whisperings, when a voice much nearer had 'Psst'-ed at her. She had felt an ear twitch in the direction of the sound, and had rolled onto her stomach to look around for its source. Unperturbed, she observed that she was a cat. But she did not have much time to ponder over this, for another cat stepped through the leaves of the undergrowth and bushed. Her tortoiseshell pelt glowed with starlight, but her amber eyes reassured the lass that she was no threat. Amy recognized her almost immediately. The thought_ I __know you _blared in her mind.

"_Follow me_," the starry she-cat instructed, turning and racing up the path through the trees, barely giving the sorceress time to jump to her feet—paws—and follow. They flashed through the forest, jumping over rocks and roots and branches, ducking through bushed and brambles, and swerving to avoid trees. At last, the trees thinned, and they came upon the shore of a lake. The Milky Way reflected radiantly off the rippling surface of the black water. "_Silverpelt watches __over you just as it does over our descendants_," the mysterious feline told her. "_This way_." And they were off again, sprinting along the shore. They crossed a stream after a short while, and the shore gave way to hills and moorland. Amy vaguely recognized the change of scenery, but was more interested in the way it felt to move like a cat. She subtly acknowledged that she should befeeling tired right now, but only energy, excitement, and anticipation coursed through her muscles. Her curiosity at all the new smells and sounds, her slight disorientation at being a cat,... having a tail... everything was so new and foreign. She pricked her ears when the lapping of water against the shore grew louder, and looked to see that the moors had ended, and the two cats had once again climbed down to the lakeside.

Amy widened her eyes, looking ahead into the dark. They were headed into the marshy territory. There was what appeared to be a finger of land stretching into the water. She narrowed her eyes, looking more closely. An island. "_I know this place_," she meowed in awe. Her guide slowed to a walk and faced her. "_You have traveled among us in dreams. You have __followed our warriors along their paths in your own mind. We have sensed your presence. And it __is for this quality that we have chosen to ask your help_."

"_Me_?" Amy startled.

"_Worry not. We know what you really are and it makes no difference."_

"_A Twolegs_."

"_Yes_."

The girl felt her ears sag. _"I'm not so sure I can help, mate. I'm on a mission of my own __already_."

"_This I know. And I may be able to help your journey along. Would you be willing to help our __kind if we helped you?"_

Ames thought a moment before asking smoothly, _"Would you withhold this information if I do __not?_"

The tortoiseshell was silent for long moments. Then, finally, "_No. I am not that kind of cat_."

The dreaming girl considered her for an incredibly long-seeming time. "_I'll...see what I can do to __help,_" she said at last, voice low.

"_But why?_"the she-cat gaped at her surprisedly.

"_Well...because you were going to give me this information regardless. The least I could do __would be to at least try, aye?_"

The starlight in the she-cat's pelt glimmered a little more brightly, and a gentle purr escaped her throat. "_All of StarClan thanks you, young one. Now come_." She led the way at an effortless trot toward the island. A huge fallen tree served as a natural bridge from land to island. The danced across its slick surface almost as if they were floating. Continuing on toward the island's center, they finally came to a stop in the middle of a great clearing. A large, bright yellow butterfly—decorated with black striping—was fluttering about. Unperturbed by the would-be predators, it landed on the lass's nose, wings opening and closing a few times. _"Self confidence __is a fragile thing_," the spirit told her. "_It is time for you to wake, young one_," she continued, licking the top of Amy's head as the butterfly flew off again. Already, everything seemed to dim, and the girl could feel herself trying to wake up.

"_Thank you, Spottedleaf_," she managed to meow, before her body began to feel more human than cat.

"_As danger lurks behind every tree, an enemy shall become an ally, and the hawk will lead the __way to safety_," Spottedleaf meowed. These were the last words Amy heard before the dream faded into the reality of the waking world.

"And that's pretty much the way of it," Amy finished her tale.

"So were you right after all?" James enquired.

Earlier the previous week, the lass had brought several hardcover books with her, explaining that she thought the dreams reminded her of happenings in the stories. "Yes. For sure. Spottedleaf spoke of StarClan, and both play significant roles in the series-es."

"And what about her departing words? 'The hawk knows the way to safety?'"

"Oh. The hawk. That's me."

"How do you know?"

"I took a quiz online at the series' official site that assigns names. The name given to me was Hawkear."

"Hawkear," James repeated, gazing hard at the books piled in front of them. "What an absurd name," he murmured half to himself.

"Absurd to you, yes. But after you've read the books, you'll think otherwise." He blinked. The pile of books was, on the table, nearly as tall as she was. Did she really expect him to read two six-book sagas, the first book of a third, and two or three 'special editions'?

"Amy..."

"At least read the first book. See how you like it."

"This is another one of your obsessions, isn't it."

"Maaaybeee..." she gave him her best innocent look. "Then again, just the act of going would prolly spoil both series for you."

"We'll see. Now, what was that butterfly about?"

"Well... Spottedleaf said that self confidence was a fragile thing, and—."

"Dis is Jack Sparra's self confidence. A butterfly is a fragile t'ing. An' so 't must be ano'der manifestation," Tia Dalma cut in.

"Great! All we need to do is go capture it. It was on the Gathering island when Spottedleaf showed me."

"It's not as simple as that, dear," James countered. "Have you forgotten already that you promised this 'StarClan' that you would help with that 'prophecy'?"

"Yeah, I know. But it should be relatively easy, given my experience for working out the book prophecies long before the characters can. See? I've already got a part of it figured out."

James and Tia shared a long, contemplating look, silently debating. "Enough time have pass'. You will go an' fulfill 'dis promise, an' come back wit' Jack," the mystic said at last. Norrington's gaze never left her, a triumphant smile spreading across his face.

"Great," Ames rubbed her hands together. "But, ah... one question. It's different to go into a book than it is into a video game, isn't it? I mean, we wouldn't literally go into the books, would we?"

"No, chil'. You are correct. D'ese books are _portal_ to 'nother Realm. De imagery, de feeling of the world d'ey _create_—_that_ is where you going."

"Wonderful. We just need to prepare." She opened up the latest book to a few pages adorned with maps. With a wave of her hand, copies of both maps appeared in her grasp, which she pressed into James' hands. "Study up. These are two different maps of the same place, which is where we're going. One is from the cats' point of view, and the other is from people's. keep them safe. You may need them."

"Will do, darling," he rumbled amicably. "However, might I suggest a wax coating? It will protect against damage from moisture."

She nodded. "Good plan." He held them out for her to tap a finger against. It was an odd sensation in the palm of his hand as the wax formed down the parchment. Once that was done, she took them from him and set them against the table. She pointed a finger at the middle of a foresty area. "This is where my dream started. We came down through here, along the lakeside... across this creek, and then into WindClan territory." Her finger traced over the moorlands. "Then through this part of RiverClan territory," she went over the marsh, "and then over the fallen-tree bridge to the island, which is where I saw the butterfly."

"Territory? WindClan? RiverClan? Amy, I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea as to what you are talking about."

"Read the books. They'll explain everything a lot better than I can."

"Ya don' have that much time," Tia replied from the next room, startling them both. She leaned around the doorframe to look at them. "If self-confidence is so fragile, den ya don't have a moment to lose. Him could easily be hurt." She disappeared from sight, going back to whatever it was she was doing.

"Then I'll have to explain as best I can so we can get outta here."

"There's no time," James murmured. "I'm sure I'll adjust, so long as it isn't anything like that Kingdom of Hearts."

"Oh no," she shook her head. "Nothing as drastic as that."

"Good then. Let us leave as soon as possible."

"Right." She rolled up the maps and handed them to him; he fished a ribbon out of his pocket and tied them up. "Keep those in-hand instead of in-pocket, in case your wardrobe changes again."

"That is a good idea," he praised her. She grinned up at him, almost shying from his favor.

A sudden thought hit her. "Tia Dalma, do you think you can communicate with my parents? I mean... this could actually take months in their world to complete."

"An' how many books would it take outta a series?"

"Er... It could really be anywhere from one to six."

"How long would it take to read dat many?"

"One I can read in less than a day. Six would take about a week—if I stop to eat, sleep, and go to the bathroom. Tops. If I just kept reading and never stopped? At the shortest, two to three days."

"Den I shall find means send them a message warnin' of ya absence. An' if ya return early, more time ta us for continuin' ya learnin'."

"Okay, sure." She turned back to James, a hand seeking his. "Imagine with me, James: A lush, deciduous woodland, just coming out of a long winter. The unerbrush is gone with the frost, but it is beginning to grow back with the promise of spring. The trees stretch high above your head, and the sun filters down through the empty branches. But they will not be just branches for long. The buds of leaves are appearing. The young shoots on the ground will soon bloom into ferns and other undergrowth. It is pleasantly cool for the end of February. The birds are singing. The forest is coming back to life. Can you see it?"

"Yes," he sighed, quite enjoying the image.

She let out a breath with a nod, and concentrated. In a puff of purple mist, they were gone.

——————————

Amy opened her eyes to a greener undergrowth than she had imagined. Spring must have come more quickly this year to this world. Immediately, she knew she was a cat again. "Oh... this is _too_ cool." Her own meow was foreign to her. All the smells and sounds were so sharp and so clear. It was almost overwhelming. However, hours and hours of imagining what it would be like had prepared her somewhat. The ears that could move she was fine with. The tail... well, the tail would take some getting used to. She rolled onto her paws, marveling at the way her body moved and rejoicing in how natural it felt—no more settling for the awkward slouching what was the human's closest imitation. They were glorious moments (at least in her mind) as she took her first pawsteps. "Isn't this awesome, James?" she meowed. There was no answer. "James?" She whipped her head around. There was no one in sight. "James?!" Still there was no reply. She picked frantically around the area where she had woken up. "James! Oh G-d, not again!"

"Lost something, have we?" came a voice. She whirled around, tail puffing out (half expecting to meet the fox from Chronicles of Narnia...) to see three cats she very vaguely recognized. There was a light brown tabby tom, a smaller, younger gray-and-white tome, and a strong, long-limbed black tom with a brown underside—the last of which was at the head of their posse and the source of the voice.

"I-I..."

"Go on, spit it out, trespasser," the leader spat.

"Spiderleg," the tabby cut in, "I don't think you're going to get anywhere like that."

'_Spiderleg,'_ Ames thought. _This must be a patrol, drawn in by my senseless yowling. I'm on ThunderClan territory!_

Spiderleg allowed his fur to lie flat. "You want to handle this, Birchfall? Be my guest." And he sat and began to wash a paw.

Birchfall nodded and stepped forward. "You are trespassing on ThunderClan territory. Either you leave, or we will be forced to chase you out."

"Is there not a third option?"

Birchfall's ears pricked. "What?"

"What if I had to speak to Firestar about something important?" she had to bite back the bit about StarClan, remembering that the message was designated for certain ears only.

Birchfall looked slightly taken aback. "A foreign rogue like you? What business could you possibly have with ThunderClan's leader?"

"Business that is for his ears and his alone," she snapped, momentarily reverting to her talk-like-a-captain-because-Jack-is-a-horse-and-can't-talk voice.

The younger tom sniffed the air curiously. "She smells strange."

Spiderleg gave his apprentice a disapproving look. "You must learn to hold your tongue, Mousepaw. StarClan knows we need your spontaneous comments."

"Anyhow, is it's Firestar you've come to see, then we'll take you to him."

"Are you sure that is wise, Birchfall?" the elder warrior asked.

"I am no threat," Amy mewed meekly. "I've no idea how to hunt or fight."

"Hunt?"

"Then that makes you a kittypet."

Her eyes flashed. "By no means am I owned by Twolegs. I just...never learned how to hunt. I've been surviving on..." There! That tree... "Juice berries."

"Juice berries?"

"That's what I said. Like the ones growing right above you. When they get ripe enough, they fall to the ground, and they are filled with so much juice, it's almost like taking a drink instead of a bite to eat." Mulberries, actually. But the forest cats wouldn't know what those were, anyway.

"And when those are not in season?" Spiderleg interrogated. "What then?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, mentally wincing because it was a human action, and replied casually, "I steal food from the Twolegs." She ignored their appalled expressions. "Listen , I'd love to chat, but I've got a friend to find and a leader to talk to, so if you'll excuse me."

"A friend to find? How many of you are there?"

"Just us two. We seem to have gotten separated."

"I'm sure one of the other patrols will come across him," Birchfall assured her. "And if the reason that you are here is as important as you say, then we cannot delay your seeing him any longer."

Spiderleg gave him a praising look. "Good idea. The sooner she sees Firestar, the sooner she leaves our territory."

Amy shook her ears. "I've just woken up—haven't been feeling particularly well, see,—and I don't know if I will be able to run." She wasn't exactly used to her body yet. "Do you mind terribly if we keep the pace slow."

Spiderleg and Birchfall looked at one another, silently debating. "Who cares if it's a slow pace, as long as it gets us somewhere?" Mousepaw piped up.

Ames narrowed her eyes in gratitude. "Thank you, Mousepaw."

Spiderleg gave him a withering look. "Follow us," he growled, taking off at a steady trot into the forest. The three cats followed, disappearing into the undergrowth.

——————————

The sun glared unrelentingly into closed hazel eyes. James jolted awake, sitting up and putting a hand to his head. "That was less than pleasant." He got to his feet and wobbled down to the lakeshore nearby, splashing some water on his face before glancing half-heartedly at his reflection. His hair, where it had been stringy, damp, and tied back be a ribbon, was now bushy, dry, and loose ((A/N: Image taken from interview on YouTube including Mackenzie Crook.)) His piratized Naval uniform had been replaced by a sorrel untucked button-down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a pair of old, worn-out jeans, knees ready to tear at any moment, and well-worn brownish-burgundy sneakers. "A little too casual for my taste, Amy," he murmured, turning around to face the girl who...wasn't there. He heaved a sigh, and looked all around. To his left was hilly moorland. To his right, marshy wetland. Directly in front of him, though off in the distance, stood a farm house, fences and paddocks branching off. He thought he heard the distant neigh of a horse. But the girl was nowhere to be seen. "Amy!" he cupped his hands round his mouth. There was no reply. "Oh not again," he huffed, picking up the maps, and decided right on the spot to head toward the barn.

"_James? James!"_ a voice exploded in his mind.

"_No need to yell, pet, I'm not deaf of the mind."_

"_I'm sorry. I've been trying to reach you for almost an hour. You never answered!"_

"_Sorry, dear, I was just a little busy being unconscious,"_ he replied in a mix of amusement and sarcasm.

"_Ooohhh..."_

"_I'm near the farm. Once I'm there I'll take a look at the maps. Where are you?"_

"_A patrol found me on ThunderClan territory as planned. They're taking me to their camp to see their leader. It's the quarry on the human-view map."_

"_All right. As soon as I get a feel for where I am, I'll come right away."_

"_Okay, good idea."_

Pause. James cursed under his breath. _"Blast it, I've just ripped out one of the knees on my trousers."_

"_What?! You're human?"_

James' eyebrows came together in her mind. _"Yes."_

"_Nevermind, don't come!"_

His eyebrows rose. _"What? Why not?"_

"_Because the Clan cats don't trust humans. I'm gonna need you to stick around the Twolegplaces for now. I think it might even be beneficial to make nice with some of the locals. Just in case."_

"_I—but what about you?"_

"_If Firestar knows about the prophecy, then he'll have to keep me around."_

"_Er...all right, I suppose. Should I take it that you have landed yourself as a cat in this world?"_

Her response was a meow in his mind. _"It's so cool!"_

"_I'm jealous, love. Truly and honestly. Ah well. Keep your nose clean, now. And try to stay out of trouble."_

"_Trouble? Me?"_ He rolled his eyes—both physically and mentally. _"That goes for you, too, I believe."_

"_Oh, now what fun is it if one can't get into trouble?"_

Her eyes gleamed in his mind, followed by a short burst of surprise. _"Oh-oh, we're here. I'll keep in touch—Love ya!—Don't do anything stupid!"_ she said quickly, pulling out of his mind.

He tried to call her back, but she was already gone. "I hope you know what you are doing," he muttered, continuing toward the barn.

——————————

"Oh, hello there, I didn't hear ye come in," a woman's voice, laced with Scottish accent, startled James from where he had been sitting on a hay bale examining the maps laid out on another bale in front of him. His head shot up, and he spotted a woman of about twenty or so, blonde, tall, blue eyes set in her pretty, heart-shaped face. She wore a typical riding outfit—not that James recognized this, for it bore little to no resemblance to the riding habits he was accustomed to seeing—hair tucked up under the black velvet-covered helmet, calves covered to the knees by shining, spurred black boots, a crop in hand. They stared at each other for long moments. "If yer here for a ride, we take reservations out at the front desk," she informed him at length with a gesture behind her.

He smiled faintly, turning back to the maps. "I'm not much of a rider."

She must have seen that he found the idea appealing, for she approached and clamped her helmet on his head. "Never too late to learn."

He smiled amusedly, sliding said helmet off and rising, handing it back to her. "And how would I repay your services, milady? I have no money."

Her face was suddenly an expression of confusion. "Then why're ye here?"

He looked at the ground in well-feigned sheepishness. "I'm afraid I am a little lost. I came in through the back," he gestures to the open barn door. "From the wood. I chanced to hope I might take a rest here and get my bearings." He picked up the maps, rolling them up together. "I did not intend to intrude, Madam, and I shall be on my way immediately." With a bow, he turned to go.

"If you're so lost, then you don't really have anywhere to go, do you?"

He smiled humorlessly. "That would be the definition of the word lost, would it not?"

She considered him a moment, and in that same moment an idea formed in his head. "What's your name?"

He put on the distant look of someone desperately trying to remember something. "I..." he swallowed, looking at the ground, brows knit together in 'worry'. "I don't know," he said in soft, frustrated tones.

"What d'ye mean?"

"I daresay I have amnesia." His knuckle pressed against his lips in thought. "Yes, that might explain it... Waking at the lakeside without a clue as to how I came to be there... Unable to recognize anything... Can't even remember my own name. How pathetic," he muttered 'bitterly.'

"Oh!" He looks up to see her shocked expression. "I'm so sorry. Come with me—we can get you to a doctor."

"I do not think that is necessary, madam. I'm not in any pain, so it is not any injury. I do not feel nauseous nor fatigued, so I have not concussed."

"Then what happened?"

He backed a half-step away at the intensity of her voice. "Even a doctor couldn't tell you that. No symptoms or injury. I know that much."

"Ye seem ta know a lot aboot doctors."

He met her gaze in well-acted realization. "Perhaps I was one. Or was around one often. I don't know." He punched the wall in feigned frustration (which he would later regret, as it badly bruised his knuckles...) "Forgive me. This is all just so—frustrating."

"Do you like horses?" she asked suddenly after a heavy silence.

His head shot up, eyebrow rising confusedly. "Come again?"

"Well, I was thinking..."

"Well that's never good," he smiled 'weakly.'

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. "...that I can call in to the police and tell them you're here, and to look for any missing-persons that might match..."

He shrugged, thinking quickly. It couldn't hurt—they'd never find a match anyway. "Sounds all right. Go on."

"...and that in the meantime, you could stay here and work as a stable hand, taking care of the horses."

"I am flattered at your generosity, but I cannot say I remember anything concerning the care of equines, madam."

She smiled shyly at him. "I like the way you talk. And anyways," she caught herself, much to the amusement of the twice-former-Commodore, "I can teach you all ya need ta know."

This time he smiled for real at her. "I would greatly appreciate that, madam."

"My name is Winnie." (Lol, pun!) She extended her hand for a shake—but was pleasantly surprised when he gently took said hand and delicately lifted it to his lips, hazel eyes never leaving hers.

"It is lovely to meet you, Winnie. I only wish I had a reply, that I might properly introduce myself."

"You look like a Jack. Or a Timothy. Or—well you look like a lot of names would fit you, actually."

"Why don't you list them? Perhaps one will sound familiar." He was curious to see what other names would 'fit' him. And hopefully, his real name would be among the others.

"Good idea. All right. Jack. Timothy. Scott. Theodore. Thomas. Uhh... David. Antony. Caesar. Azmyth." His eyebrows rose at these last two. "Daniel. Rupert. Oliver. Jesse. James. Peter—."

"James," he repeated 'reverently'. "I do like the sound of that. Although I do think Caesar is also a fitting name, but James just... feels right. You understand?"

She nodded vigorously. "Well then, James m'lad," she said, jovially clapping an arm round his shoulders and leading him deeper into the barn, "it is time to acquaint yourself with the Hare Hill Riding Stables."

He followed, hiding a look of triumph, and reveling at how great an actor (or how great a liar) he was. It must have come from being in the Navy. o0 All was going according to plan. Amy _had_ said to make nice with the locals, after all.

——————————

A squeeze through the thorn tunnel, and the sheer rock walls of a disused quarry stretched above her. "Birchfall, you take our visitor to Firestar. No need for all four of us to go," Spiderleg ordered. "Mousepaw, go and get something to eat. When you are finished, meet me at the Sky Oak so we can work on some fighting techniques, all right?"

"Okay!" And the apprentice trotted off toward the fresh-kill pile.

Ames wrinkled her nose at the pile of dead animals, but was not as repulsed as she would have been as a person. The scents wafting toward her on a slight zephyr _did_ smell appetizing... "Come on. I'll show you to Firestar's den," said the tabby tom.

"Thank you." And they turned and crossed over the hard ground. She looked around noticing bushes and trees and even small thickets growing against the walls and out of cracks in the rock. Many of these were dens, she knew. She assumed she would get the grand tour another time. The tom helped her up a pile of rocks from a rockfall long ago, to a ledge from which one could see the whole hollow. Behind this ledge was a cave, where the Clan leader made his den. She looked around, observing the comfortable-looking moss nest in the shadows deeper in, and bracken hanging like a curtain, but it was also empty. "Has Firestar gone on patrol?" she asked.

Birchfall looked just as baffled as she. "He must have. I'll have to ask Brambleclaw—that's his deputy—but I don't think you should let him catch you; he's very serious about driving trespassers out of our territory."

"In that respect, I do not think that Firestar would welcome my staying (well, hiding really) in his den. Is there anywhere else I may stay while I await his return?"

The warrior (for that is what he was) twitched his whiskers. "You're right. I know Leafpool would be willing to let you stay. She's our Medicine Cat. Here—I'll show you to her den." He sprang from the ledge, landing easily on the ground. Ames, still being incredibly graceless with her new body, clumsily rolled in a somersault upon her landing. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she defended herself. "I just wasn't paying attention. That's all."

"Well don't go drawing the Clan's eyes to yourself, now. You're an outsider," he hissed.

She shrank away slightly, though anger was flaring up inside her at him scolding her. "I don't aim to." She followed him across the hollow (as the Clan cats would call it, as opposed to 'quarry'.) to a rock face covered by a curtain of hanging bramble tendrils. They ducked through into a cave. She looked around, nose going like mad, taking in everything in sight. Various herbs, leaves, berries, seeds, roots, etc. were stored neatly in cracks and crevices in the wall. There was incredibly soft sand underpaw, and a small pool of very fresh-smelling water in the back of the cave, fed by a trickle of water creeping through the rock and moss. "She has a very admirable den."

"Thank you," came a voice, and they looked to see a light brown tabby she-cat with white forepaws and chest sitting at the cave's entrance, freshly-picked shoots of heather at her paws, tail curled gracefully around her. "Who are you?"

"She is a stranger who brings news for Firestar."

The medicine cat's ears pricked. "That is interesting. Unfortunately, Firestar is out hunting with Sandstorm and Cloudtail, and shouldn't be back until sunhigh ((noon))."

"Unfortunate in some aspects, but fortunate in others," the girl meowed.

"How so?"

"Well... I get to meet you."

"Then in that respect, my name is Leafpool."

"My name," she began tentatively, "is Hawkear." (From here to whatever point at which she becomes a girl again, she shall be referred to as Hawkear.) She had to resist the urge to 'shake hands' as was human habit.

"It is very nice to meet you, Hawkear."

"We were wondering if she could stay here while she waits for Firestar," Birchfall interrupted.

"Of course," Leafpool replied with a wave of her tail. The tom took this as a dismissal and departed with a mewed goodbye. The medicine cat leaned forward and sniffed curiously at her new guest. "You smell very different. Where did you come from?"

"All over, really. I travel a lot." It wasn't _so _much of a lie...

"Really?" Leafpool sounded interested as she sorted the heather into a place in the wall. She turned back around, amber eyes inquiring. "Tell me about some of the places you've been."

"Well... I was at the sea most recently—the Sun-Drown Place, I mean. The gulls were all crying and singing, and the gentle lapping of the waves on the beach—_oooh_," she shuddered with delight. "The sand was a little rough underpaw, but I got used to it after a while. And there was this river that let out into the sea, and following it further inland was this bayou—which is like a marsh or a swamp, I suppose. The trees are so green and so thick that in some parts it looks like twilight, and even night. There are some places where the mud was really sticky, but we got around them."

"We?"

"Me and my friend. But he and I got separated when we got to your forest."

"Oh. Well I hope he's all right."

"He's fine."

Leafpool wanted to ask how she knew, but bit back the urge and asked instead, "So what brings you to our territory?"

"I need to speak with Firestar. Something about helping with danger of some sort."

"'Something about?' As in someone was telling you to do something?"

Hawkear's red-hawk's-tail-colored ears sagged. "I've said too much."

"Have StarClan spoken to you?" Hawkear gazed wordlessly at her paws. "They have, haven't they?"

She suddenly felt that she could trust this cat. "'As danger lurks behind every tree, an enemy will become an ally, and the hawk will know the way to safety.' That's what Spottedleaf told me."

"_Spottedleaf_ spoke to you?"

"Yes. She came to me in a dream."

"But you're a rogue."

"She asked me to help. I said I would. That's really all there is to it."

"But why would you be so willing to help us if you don't even know us?"

"I know you all better than you think," she replied enigmatically, lifting green feline eyes to meet the other she-cat's gaze, before adding on, "I made a deal with StarClan. You see, my friend and I have another friend we've been searching for for a while. StarClan asked me to help in exchange for telling me where we might find him."

"And yet you are willing to brave the dangers of the forest to help us anyway, even if it is to help your friend."

Hawkear pricked her ears. "Dangers? The forest didn't seem so dangerous on the way here."

"That's because you were most likely led on one of the main paths. Everywhere else, cats are forbidden from going alone." The medicine cat paused, but felt her companion burning with unasked questions. "Well, a lot of stuff has been going wrong, lately. Badgers are all over the place—every few days, some of our warriors have to chase one off. They're lucky if they don't end up like poor Dustpelt," she pointed with her tail at a dark brown tabby tom curled up asleep in one of the nests near the spring. There was a great wound on his shoulder, which was covered with a poultice of cobwebs. "He'll be all right, though. Just a little stiff."

"Well that's good."

"And the twolegs are setting traps for them, but some of out cats have gotten caught in them. Jaypaw, my apprentice, nearly lost a leg because of them. They are like a great gaping black mouth, with huge, shining teeth. The twolegs hide them, so we can't always see them. So when a cat walks unaware onto one, it snaps its teeth together. We've learned how to set them off with a stone or a stick, like we have with the fox traps (snares), but the twolegs just put them in different places whenever we do, so then we never know where they are. And we can't just leave the ones we find as they are and just tell everyone about them, because there's always a chance that someone will get hurt. Every morning, we send out a patrol to look for and set off any traps they find. And that seems to be working—we even sometimes find fresh-kill caught in them—but who knows how long before things get worse? It's only a matter of time before the twolegs do something else."

"Is it greenleaf (summer) yet, or is it still newleaf (spring)? It was newleaf when I first left the bayou, and now I can't be sure, because everything looks different in a forest than in a wamp."

"It is almost the end of newleaf. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, you see, traveling a lot, one tends to learn very much. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that twolegs work with the seasons. I saw the Horseplace, and a Twolegplace across the lake. A place like this—twolegs will come often in greenleaf. But they prepare, see. They get everything ready for the other twolegs that travel here. They have noticed the badgers, and do not want conflict, so they try to get rid of them. However... the traps you described—I've seen them used before, but more for bears than badgers."

"What's a bear?" Leafpool asked with trepidation.

"Great lumbering beasts, with snouts like dogs, claws the length of a badger's _head_. They are larger than the biggest dog you've ever seen, and when they feel threatened, they stand on their hind legs, like a twolegs."

"Do you think one's moved into the forest, and the twolegs are trying to get rid of it?"

"Maybe," Hawkear flicked her tail. "But I can't know for sure. They're fascinating beasts, actually. They sometimes climb trees, looking for bees' nests for honey. They are fond of fish and berries and small animals, but each bear is different, so I suppose that if there _is_ one in the area, we should interpret it as a threat." There was always something inside her that wanted to educate someone about something she knew about that they did not—so she was going into all the detail. (Surprisingly enough, she did not wish to be a teacher. Go figure.)

"How will we know there is one?" the other she-cat asked, eyes huge at the description.

"There are signs. I can't remember them much right now, but I can recall a few: half-eaten fish or their remains, very large five-toed paw prints in the mud..." she flexed her claws and drew one in the sand. "A bit like that, actually. And the bark scraped off a tree by great claws about one, maybe two foxlengths (yards) from the ground. But that's all I can recall. I know there are other signs—oh! like dirt (scat) and hair, which is long and course. The second one is, I mean," she caught herself. "But like I said, I know there are others."

"That's all right. At least we know more now than we ever used t in case a bear comes here. I'll keep an eye out for anything and an ear open if anyone else has."

"You're not going to warn them?"

"We don't know that a bear is around here yet. And if we say anything, the camp will be in mass chaos. Unless we can be sure one of those things is in the forest, we don't say anything, all right?" Hawkear nodded. "We've got enough to worry about as it is. Now, please, bury that paw print before someone sees it.

Hawkear did so with understanding, drawing a paw over her face a couple of times when finished. "So getting off such a dreadful subject, we know what dangers there are. Okay. Now, how about the rest of it? 'An enemy will become an ally.' What do you make of that?"

"I don't know. It could be anything—from enemy cats to rivaling animals, like the fox or the badger."

"Midnight?" the former-lass dared to suggest.

"How do you know of her?"

"I uh... I—met her recently by the sea. Then I began to have these strange dreams where I knew I was asleep, and then Spottedleaf came. Midnight told me I should come here." It made sense. Midnight was like the Tia Dalma of this Realm, after all...

Leafpool was nodding her head. "That is very interesting. But I don't think Midnight is the one Spottedleaf meant. She isn't our enemy, and she never has been. So she can't _become_ an ally because she already _is_ one."

"That makes sense. So I suppose that the rest will have to reveal itself in time. One last question, thought. Is it only ThunderClan that has been having these problems, or have the other Clans been threatened too?"

"Nobody knows. Firestar expects that we shall find out at the next Gathering—that is when cats from all Clans gather on the Island to share with each other under the truce of the full moon."

"I know. When is the next full moon?"

"Not for another half-moon," Leafpool answered with a shake of her head.

"Do you think I might be the Hawk Spottedleaf mentioned?" she asked.

"That would make a very good point. The name of an animal or a time often symbolizes something else. And I want to say yes—because Spottedleaf wouldn't have come to you if otherwise—but no one knows for sure. The half-moon is in a few days. The medicine cats and their apprentices meet and journey to the Moonpool to share tongues (news and information) with our ancestors in StarClan. I know I shouldn't be doing this, but," she suddenly lowered her voice, looking warily at the sleeping Dustpelt and the cats oblivious outside her den, leaning in confidentially, "I think you should come with us. It is too important to wait until a later time, and you shouldn't go alone since you don't know the territory."

"And it's probably better if I'm going with someone who already knows the whole shpeal," Hawkear whispered back.

"Right. Now, I need to warn you about my apprentice, Jaypaw. You see, he can—."

"—I know of his abilities already. In fact, I probably know more about them than you do. But it is not my place to keep you from learning more on your _own_ as the adventure continues." Leafpool looked at her confusedly and was about to say something when another cat's voice cut through the air from somewhere out in the hollow.

"Hello, Jaypaw. Well! You've got quite a load there." There was a muffled response. Hawkear noticed that the former voice did not offer to help, and the latter did not ask for it, even though the heavy breathing that reached her ears told her Jaypaw was struggling with the herbs. There was a reason for this. Jaypaw was blind. His jay-blue eyes blinked and moved like any other cat's, the only difference being that they could not see. However, he had excellent senses and was usually pretty fine on his own. His pride was a very great thing. And that mixed with his disability made him oversensitive. Any offering of help made him think others thought he needed more help than an ordinary cat. And asking for help himself would certainly make him look helpless. (To sum up his character...)

In walked a young, half-grown-but-smaller-than-a-half-grown gray cat. "Hello, Jaypaw," Leafpool greeted him.

He dropped the herbs at his paws, nose in the air. "Who's that?" he asked. "She smells strange."

Leafpool and Hawkear exchanged glances. "This is Hawkear. She is a rogue who has traveled a long way to speak with Firestar."

"Really? What about?"

Hawkear's whiskers twitched. "Whether or not I can tell you will be up to Firestar to decide, I think."

"Fine." He began to sort the herbs into their rightful places, acting as though he did not care to press the matter. But she could feel him probing her mind—that was his special ability: To read the thoughts and emotions of other cats, and even walk in their dreams.

_Pry all you want, Fuzzy,_ she thought to him, emerald eyes burning into his back. _Because right now, it's really none of your beeswax, savvy?_ One of his ears twitched, and he turned around to stare at her, eyes meeting hers as if he could see. "Nice to meet you, jaypaw," she meowed sweetly, eyes gleaming dangerously.

He opened his mouth to retort, but said nothing and turned back to sorting the herbs. "When you're done, Jaypaw, Mousefur has been complaining that Longtail's snoring has given him a sore throat—Longtail won't say anything for himself, naturally," she explained to Hawkear, "because he doesn't want to be fussed over. Anyway, will you bring him some honey to lick?"

Jaypaw fished out a piece of honeycomb, careful not to let any of its sweet contents drip to the dust, and left without a word, casting only one sightless glance over his shoulder at the former-lass as he went.

Leafpool made a sound like she'd just remembered something. "Oh! I forgot catmint. I need to go and collect some. Be back as soon as I can. Welcome to ThunderClan," she said hastily, turning tail and beginning to rush off.

"What if Dustpelt wakes up?" Hawkear asked warily.

"Oh—get him to drink something, will you? And tell Jaypaw to one: fetch Dustpelt some fresh-kill, and two: that he has the rest of the afternoon free. Bye now!" She raced off.

"Be careful of bear-traps!" Hawkear called after her. And as she watched the other cat disappear, she felt a great clenching about her heart, and knew that something bad would happen during her stay (well, it was kind of inevitable) and her mind wandered back to the bear. She tried to reassure herself that the traps could just as well be for badgers as for bears. Why, in the _Fox and the Hound_, Farmer Amos had set up plenty of bear traps for Tod the fox. Nothing was wrong.

...But she couldn't shake the feeling.

* * *

So how's that for a chapter? I know, I know, I probably have soo much unneeded stuff in there, but well...yeah. Sorry if nobody's familiar with the series (all the more reason to go read it!) But hey, these are my obsessions anyway. Heehee. A little too long for me to edit, but I'll get around to it eventually. It'll be a few chapters before we move on, but don't worry. It won't take that long—in the story I mean. Actually updating could take a very long time indeed. I haven't even started on the next chapter yet—it's not that I don't know what I need to write, it's just that I don't feel like writing it, y'know? The same goes for Fears Unknown (for which I apologize profusely! Aahh!!) But you never know. I might be able to squeeze something out sooner or later.

Happy reviewing!

CMS


	18. Grin and Bear it

Hi everyone! Sorry aboot not updating when I promised! Turns out I hardly wrote AT ALL while I was in Ireland, and I had no imagination left until the end of band camp (and then I was writing like heck). I **finally** finished the chapter, and I wanted to post it yesterday (my last day before school) but I kind of needed to sleep. Thirty-six point five pages in my journal, in case anyone was wondering. I know you were just **dying** to know that.

Anywaffles, here's a super-long update. Enjoy!

**RespectTheSporks and ArmoredSoul: **The series is called Warriors. The first book in the franchise is titled 'Into the Wild.'

**Destinysway114:** Ha! Pirate-cat in the Hat! I love it!

**Little Miss Sparrow: **At last! Someone who gets all my references! (Well, most of them anyway...)

**Inwë:** No, the Tailchaser book is not in any way related to Warriors except that it is popular with fans of the franchise.

**Disclaimer** I don't have a job. I don't have insurance. I haven't gotten the boot outta my house yet. I can't _afford_ to own anything! Don't sue meeeeee!!!

**Chapter Eighteen: Grin And Bear It!**

Leafpool returned promptly, and Dustpelt had not awoken yet (which worried his ate, Ferncloud). The medicine-cat's presence was an immense comfort to Hawkear, for Firestar returned soon after, and though she knew he was just and kind and would take her in, she was anxious to face him alone. And her new friend had so graciously offered to accompany her into the ThunderClan leader's den.

Spiderleg was speaking to Firestar. As she and Leafpool sat at the entrance of her den to watch, his ears twitched, and he looked up to acknowledge them with a glance as he spoke. The ginger tom that was his leader, pelt glittering like flame in the sunlight, turned his head and met the green gaze of the stranger. He nodded at whatever Spiderleg was telling him, never breaking eye contact until he gestured with his tail to his den, and padded toward it. The two she-cats followed, as did the great dark tabby deputy, Brambleclaw, amber eyes boring into Hawkear's back.

She scrambled up the fallen rocks with much more ease, having become acquainted with her new body while she had waited alone. The six of them sat in the cave that was Firestar's den—six, for his mate Sandstorm was with them. The ThunderClan leader dismissed her and Spiderleg, but Leafpool stayed—he understood the comfort his daughter was to the stranger. "Now," he mewed warmly, sitting and curling his tail around him, "who are you, and what is your business here?"

Hawkear took a deep breath, looking to Leafpool for encouragement, then to Brambleclaw, to see his curious expression, and began; "My name is Hawkear, sir, and..." Firestar shifted ever so slightly at the mention of her name, and his gaze was suddenly much more direct. His attention was fully on her, now. "My name holds a meaning to you, does it?" she asked slyly.

The tip of his tail twitched. "Impressive, young Hawkear. You are observant. But we shall hear your story first before we discuss meanings."

"Well you see, it all started when I had this dream..."

——————————

"Enjoying the scenery, are we?" a voice roused James from his thoughts, where he had been sitting on the fence of one of the paddocks, looking out to the forest off in the distance, wondering what had become of his Amy as morning had followed its path into mid-afternoon. He looked up to see his new boss leaning against the fence beside him.

"It's beautiful," he answered sincerely. "And I suppose I am growing accustomed to the stench of horses, for I don't seem to be bothered now as when I first arrived."

"I know how ya feel. When I was first introduced to horses, I thought them too smelly to bear. But as the years went by, I grew to associate the smell with something I truly adored, and thus grew ta love it. During times when I'm forced to be away from the horses for a long time, I always long for the smell as much as the horses themselves. It's hard to explain, I suppose."

"I think I understand, Mad—Winnie. I mean... there's some part of me that yearns for the open sea (why I do, I haven't an inkling), as much the waves as the salt in the air."

"Maybe you were a sailor," Winnie suggested thoughtfully.

James tensed. That was too close to home. "No," he lied quickly. "I thought I was a doctor?"

She eased onto the fence and put what she thought was a comforting hand on his shoulder. "There are a lot of things will seem familiar or of comfort to ye. No _one _of them will define you."

_Wise words,_ thought he with a faint amusement. "I...suppose you're right."

"There we are. Now, it's time to feed the horses. Each one's diet may be different from the next. Would you like to come and start to learn?"

He 'managed a reassured smile' and nodded. He hopped off the fence, and nearly tripped over the newspaper he'd brought with him (as he was curious to see how it was different than the posts he was accustomed to in his former life.) Picking it up sheepishly, he glanced at one of the headlines on the front page. "'Circus Missing Bear,'" he read aloud, studying a black-and-white picture of a bear dancing with its trainer.

"Oh yah, I heard aboot that—it was on the telly last night. That circus was here recently. I remember having some popping corn and watching the acrobats. Shame, really. I hope they find him soon," said Winnie. She took a few steps along the fence, and was greeted by many expectant nickers. "Ohh, feeding time. C'mon, I'll show ya the ropes." She strode off, and James followed, tucking the news under his arm and forgetting all about circuses and missing...

——————————

"Bears," Firestar was repeating after hearing Hawkear's theory. He gave her a contemplating look. Something was different about her. Something he couldn't describe except that she seemed downright un-cattish. For one thing, she had never moved her tail—not even a twitch—from where she had very carefully placed it when she sat. And for two, her ears never twitched to catch the sounds which floated up from the bustling camp below.

"I only say so because of the type of traps and an instinct."

"I understand what you mean by a gut feeling," he said meaningfully, "but I agree with Leafpool that we should wait and see if there are and signs of a bear before we alert the Clan to anything. However, you seem like a very knowledgeable cat, and I think you can help us with other problems, also."

She shrugged. "I can try."

"You have our thanks. In the meantime, why don't you put in with a mentor and learn how to hunt and fight?"

"Hunt?!" Hawkear startled. "I don't want to hunt."

All the cats were staring at her as though she had grown a second head. "But we must hunt to live." "You could catch your own instead of relying on others." "Why ever not?"

"Because that would be killing, and I am not a killer," she replied resolutely, chin in the air.

Firestar narrowed his eyes with some amusement. "Prey is killed only to be eaten, and we give thanks to StarClan for its life. However, your decision shall be honored, unless you should choose to change your mind."

"I will learn to defend your Clan, but that is all," she said definitely. "...For now," she added at length as an afterthought.

"So be it," the ThunderClan leader nodded. "Brambleclaw," he addressed his deputy, "Go and fetch Stormfur, will you?"

"Right away, Firestar." The broad-shouldered tabby slipped out of the den.

He returned soon after, a dark grey tom in tow, and Firestar discussed the possibility of mentoring their guest. He gave a thoughtfully uncertain affirmation, and with that a Clan meeting was called. The ginger tom introduced them to Hawkear, explaining that she had come to help them, and would be training to fight with Stormfur. There were many yowls of disapproval and outrage. Several complained of all the outsiders Firestar was allowing into the Clan—one of whom was Stormfur himself, who had come from another Clan.

"Stormfur has earned our trust and proven his worth several times over, as have Brook, Greystripe, Millie, and Daisy."

"And besides, I'm not here to stay," Hawkear grumbled irritatedly.

Firestar looked at her as though this news surprised him. "Are you sure?"

"I have a life other than this which I am very sorely beginning to miss, thank you. I will help as much as I can, but once the threat is gone, I'm outta here."

"Can we trust you?" he asked for the sake of the Clan.

"If I can trust you," she replied. "And I do."

The meeting ended, and Stormfur immediately took her along on the evening patrol to introduce her the territory and borders.

——————————

"You have to eat."

"I'm not hungry." A stomach argued the opposite.

"It is too late now to go hunting for berries, and you'll be in no shape to begin your training tomorrow if you starve yourself." Hawkear was crouched down submissively, ears sagging, eyes huge. Stormfur padded to her side and nudged her gently to her paws. "Just don't think about it like that. Haven't you ever had meat before?"

Realization prickled the young cat's pelt. _It's not like I'm a vegetarian or anything,_ she thought suddenly. _I __**live **__for Mickey-Dee's double-cheeseburgers!_ She allowed herself to be led to the fresh-kill pile, where her new mentor selected a plump, juicy mouse for her (and a thrush for himself) and followed him timidly into the shade where he set the rodent before her.

"Just don't think about it," he repeated.

She closed her eyes and let the scent entice her. Then, before she knew what she was doing, she was ravenously consuming the morsel, and soon after sat licking her chops and instinctively washing her face.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"You've no idea," she mimicked Jack (not only because the line so perfectly fit the moment, but to keep his memory alive so she wouldn't forget her true quest.)

——————————

The sun rose and set four times, and four times did the moon chase it. And now the moon had grown, waxing to half its girth. Hawkear had begun to settle into Clan life, going on occasional patrols, training to fight, and observing for any signs of unrest. Twice were there conflicts with badgers (meriting the injury of Cloudtail.) And in this time, the lass had forged a strong friendship with Leafpool, and a pleasant acquaintance with her sister Squirrelflight.

Now it was the evening of the halfmoon. Leafpool and Hawkear discussed in hushed whispers how they were going to sneak the latter out of camp. It would be difficult enough, for with all the danger, the watches had been doubled and all were on high alert. However, Stormfur had praised his new apprentice's skill for moving swiftly and silently (coming from an old obsession of the girl's to be able to do so), and once she found the right place, it was a twitch of a whisker to slip away unnoticed. Having been acquainted with the territory, she knew the way to the point where she would find Leafpool and Jaypaw, and followed them stealthily along their way to the Moonpool. They met up with the other three medicine cats and their apprentices, where they exchanged greetings and news while Hawkear lurked in the shadows downwind of them. From what she overheard, the other Clans were having trouble, also. None of them had badgers (although foxes were in the area), but all had traps. A kit that had wandered away from camp in RiverClan had been killed by one.

The journey continued along a stream. The sun had set. It was every bit like Hawkear had imagined and more. Their path led them up into the hills, until they came upon the source of the stream. They scrambled up a steep, rocky slope to a stream beyond, which they followed to a barrier of thorn bushes. Inside was the Moonpool, glittering in the starlight. Water bubbled down a sheer cliff on the far side of the hollow. The medicine cats and apprentices followed the spiraling path down to the water's edge, where they took a drink from the Moonpool and went to sleep to share tongues with StarClan.

Leafpool chanced one glance over her shoulder up at the rim of the hollow where she could see the silhouette of the waiting Hawkear, knowing she would join them once everyone was asleep, before dipping her head and lapping the water, and succumbing to sleep.

——————————

All the cats were slumbering. Hawkear swished her tail and padded down the path, marveling at how her paws fitted into the prints of ancient cats that were now long gone. She approached the water's side, and sat beside Leafpool, hoping to be sheltered from the sight of other cats. She self-consciously washed her face, then lay down and swallowed a tongueful of the water. It slid icily down her throat like silver starlight, and with that, sleep overcame her.

——————————

Leafpool opened her eyes. The hollow and the Moonpool around her had disappeared, and she was sitting at the base of a grassy hill. The long green and tan fronds, with heather and other plants, rippled softly in the zephyrs. She lifted her nose to scent the air, and found there was a scent she could not identify. One moment she thought it was a cat, the next it smelt alarmingly like Twolegs. Where were StarClan?

_Perhaps I'll be able to see where I am from the top of the hill,_ she thought, padding through the soft, cool turf. Minutes passed, and it seemed as though she had hardly moved at all up the small slope. But it was so peaceful, and she felt no sense of danger or hurry.

After a while, voices floated to her ears. One was questioning, and the other was calm and soothing. It must be Spottedleaf and some other cat, waiting for her. She sniffed again, but still she could not recognize the scent of the unnamed cat.

"_Is_ it a bear, or is there some other danger in the forest?" a familiar voice asked. Hawkear! Leafpool bounded up the slope.

"You will very soon find out, young one," came Spottedleaf's reply.

"And how am I supposed to stop these people from doing what they're doing?" The foreign term of 'people' registered uneasily in the medicine-cat's mind, but she did not slacken her pace.

"You know better than to ask me; you were chosen for a reason. You will find an answer."

"You keep saying that, but you never say _how._"

"Have patience and be alert, young one. Even the smallest detail may prove important, if only you or your friend are there to notice it." She narrowed her eyes at the word 'friend,' as Leafpool saw when she pushed through a wall of ferns.

"James? He's nowhere near the forest. How could he see anything?"

Leafpool picked her way to the hilltop, and Spottedleaf's reply was drowned out by a shocked yowl. There, crouching before the StarClan she-cat, was a young, adolescent Twolegs. "Greetings," Spottedleaf turned calmly to face her. With a sweep of her tail, she invited the medicine cat closer, but Leafpool remained frozen to the spot, eyes wide, fur bristling, debating whether to run or stay put.

"A Twolegs," she hissed. "Where is Hawkear?" I heard her voice. Why is this Twolegs on StarClan territory?!"

Spottedleaf brushed against her pelt calmingly. "_This _Twolegs is different from the rest. She comes from a world far beyond our own. When she came here, she was given the form of a cat."

"Leafpool..." The she-cat turned to look at the Twolegs. "I should have told you right from the start. I'm so sorry. You're such a great cat, and I didn't want to lose your trust."

"H-h-hawkear?"

The Twolegs shook her head. "That's only my name as a cat. Among other Twolegs I am known as Amy." Pause. "Or Todd," she added, ruining the mystified moment. Spottedleaf's tail-tip twitched in amusement.

"You can trust her just the same as before. She isn't any different than when you first met. You must understand; a cat who thinks like a Twolegs is the only protection against them."

Comprehension flowed through Leafpool, and her fur began to lie flat. "That's true."

"There are some Twolegs cats can trust. This is one of them." She turned back to the human. "Time is running short. Remember: _An ally to you is an enemy to friends._" The scene began to fade.

"Wait—wait! What does that mean?!" Amy cried. But Spottedleaf was already gone. "Please...tell me..." She opened her eyes and found she was back at the Moonpool. Leafpool was blinking awake beside her. All the other medicine cats and apprentices were still asleep. The she-cat stared long and hard at the cat beside her. She was Hawkear again, but her appearance did not shake the memory. "Please don't be angry with me. I didn't know if you would still trust me if you knew." Without waiting for a reply, she sprang to her paws and dashed out of the hollow, following her own scent stealthily back to camp.

Leafpool was still staring after her when the other medicine cats began to wake up around her. They looked at each other solemnly. "What do you think it means?" asked Littlecloud, of ShadowClan.

"Bark clawed off the trees by something massive," Barkface of WindClan described.

"StarClan must be warning us against some other danger in the forest," Mothwing of RiverClan suggested. Leafpool twitched her ears knowingly.

"I saw a great, five-toed pawprint, with claws as long as the paw itself," said Kestrelpaw, Barkface's apprentice.

"I saw coarse black fur caught in a thornbush," added Willowpaw of RiverClan.

Claws gripped Leafpool's heart like ice. "But what could it be?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

None of the other cats could say.

——————————

"Bears! I was right," Hawkear cried in a whisper when Leafpool told her what the others had seen.

"Yes, and we need to tell the warriors ro be alert for those signs, but I don't think we should say anything about your bears until they find something."

——————————

Days passed, and Firestar watched as Hawkear began to settle into Clan life (and cat life). His chest swelled with pride as she really began to fit in, and he was beginning to think that maybe she'd reconsider staying with the Clan. He was surprised one day when he came upon her crouched in the shadows under a bush in the camp, ears flattened, eyes wide and staring hollowly into the distance. "Hawkear? What's wrong?" If she had heard him, she gave no sign of it.

Stormfur approached from behind. "She made her first kill today." He gestured with his tail toward the fresh-kill pile. "I didn't realize she felt so strongly about it—I didn't know what I was asking, I guess."

"And she did what you said anyway?" Firestar asked, taking the conversation a few paces away.

"She looked like a monster (automobile) had just gone by when I asked her. But then she took a deep breath and went right after a vole. Her crouch was nearly perfect, and she scented it almost immediately. I suppose she allowed instinct to take over, but when she realized what she had done, she ran straight back and hasn't moved from that spot."

"She was brave to do it."

"It must've taken a lot," the warrior agreed. "I forgot to tell you; we found another trap near the Sky Oak. There is a new badger set near it. We left it be in the hopes that the badger would be caught in it."

"That's fine. Make sure every cat knows right where it is. Who knows? Maybe this will work."

"We can only hope."

Firestar nodded and turned back to Hawkear, only to discover that she had disappeared. He spotted her padding toward the fresh-kill pile, where she picked up the vole she'd caught and brought it to the elders.

Longtail (a pale tabby with dark stripes who had retired early due to blindness) lifted his nose. "Thank you, Hawkear. It smells wonderful."

"Yeh," she mumbled.

"You aren't proud of your efforts?"

"I just took the life of another conscious being; there's nothing to be proud of," she growled.

He rested his tail comfortingly on her shoulder. "This is how we have to live. Do you remember the scent of it as you stalked closer and closer?"

Her eyes searched his face. "Yes."

"Did you feel the beat of its heart tickling your ear fur, or the warmth as your teeth sank into it?"

"Yes," she answered guiltily, looking at her paws.

"Do you remember the burst of excitement as you went after it?"

More firmly this time, "Yes."

"This is what we are built for; this is what we are _made_ for; this is the life of a warrior."

Silence.

At length, she pressed her nose to his side, purring with relief and gratitude. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_," the tom chuckled. "That vole smells delicious."

"I'll leave you to it." And she trotted off with a mind at ease and a lighter heart.

It did not last.

As the days went by, and only a few left until the full moon, conflicts with badgers increased. And then the worst news came. A patrol had just returned and was describing to Firestar a strange sight they had seen. "Bark—scratched off every tree around!" Dustpelt was saying. "And half-eaten fish scattering the earth."

"There were great five-toes tracks in the mud, with claws as long as a newborn kit," Brackenfur added. "And coarse black fur caught in the bushes."

Firestar flicked an ear to where he knew Hawkear was listening in. "Where was this place?"

"Not far from the lakeside."

"All right, Brambleclaw," he turned to his deputy, "go and fetch Sandstorm and Thornclaw." When they were there, he told them what had been discovered. "Thornclaw, I want you to come with Dustpelt, Brackenfur, Brambleclaw and I. What's there could be dangerous, and it would be good to have another good warrior with our patrol. Will you come?"

"Of course, Firestar."

"Sandstorm, I'm leaving you in charge until we return."

She touched noses with him. "Be safe."

"I will. Hawkear," he faced the lass, "are you coming?"

She padded up to meet him eye to eye. "Do you even have to ask?"

Firestar nodded and sprang to his feet, and led the patrol out the thorn tunnel. After that, he let Dustpelt and Brackenfur take the lead, and they raced through the forest.

It was a nice day—not too hot, nor too humid or dry. And though she knew there was danger waiting for them, she couldn't help but to be excited as they wove through the undergrowth toward their destination.

The pace finally slackened, and the patrol cautiously picked their way to the spot, senses alert for anything and everything. They emerged from the shadows into a small clearing several foxlengths (yards) from the lakeside. Half-devoured carcasses of fish littered the ground. There were bits of dark fur caught in thorn bushes nearby. "It's no here," said Brackenfur, scenting the air, and every cat crept into the glade. They spread out to look around, spotting the marks on all the trees surrounding that claws had scored in the bark. While the other cats were sniffing around, Hawkear found herself drawn to a small patch of mud. There, perfectly made, was a huge footprint. So a bear really was in the area. She sighed. Never had she been to unhappy to find out she was right. ...Come to think of it, she had _never _been unhappy about that.

"The fish are still fresh. We should take them back to camp before they go to waste."

"And risk bringing the bear after them?" Dustpelt exclaimed. "I vote we get out of here."

"The bear has eaten all it pleases of them. See how the skulls are crushed and empty?"

Firestar met the glances of his warriors and nodded. "She knows what she is talking about." Brambleclaw and Brackenfur collected the carcasses. "We must warn the rest of the Clans. The Gathering is in four days." However, before they could leave, there was a great clumsy rustling in the bushes. The patrol crouched glued to the spot, not willing to run until they had seen the creature for themselves. The branches waved wildly, great pawsteps crashed closer, and then—out stepped what none of them could have expected.

"Twolegs!" Thornclaw cried, and the patrol raced away.

"Hawkear!" Firestar yowled, looking back to see the she-cat rooted to the spot. He wheeled around and grabbed her by the scruff, dragging her with him.

"Hey! Let go of me you silly furball!" She twisted out of his grasp and trotted back into the clearing. The ThunderClan leader and his patrol watched hidden in the bushes.

"James!" she meowed delightedly, springing at the Twolegs and knocking it (in its surprise) onto its back.

James looked to see a tabby she-cat on his chest, pelt filled with all sorts of colours, from black to browns to tans to reds and ginger and creamy shades. Her paws and chest were white, her eyes were like emeralds, outlined with cream, and her ears were a distinct, bright red. "Well hello there," he murmured, trying not to move. She rubbed affectionately against his face.

"_Greetings, Twolegs,"_ she replied in both thought and meow (as she would every time they spoke face to face, for the sake of the Clan cats.)

The look of shock on his face was priceless. "Amy?!"

She twitched her ears. _"I __**told**__ you already; my name is Hawkear."_

"You look amazing!"

She narrowed her eyes in gratitude, hopping to the ground so he could sit up. _"How have you been faring?"_

"I—fine, fine. I was able to get a job and lodging at the riding stables."

"_Noyce! How'd ya score that?"_

"Nothing special—just pretending to be a lost amnesiac with nowhere to go."

"_Aww. You get to be around the horsies."_ She paused to hungrily drink in his scent. _"Part of me just misses the smell—it's hard to explain."_

"I think I know what you mean," he smiled, eyes glinting with amusement. He reached out, as if to pick her up, but stopped himself, hands hovering on either side of her. They stared at one another.

"Hawkear, get out of there—NOW!" Firestar hissed.

"May I?" James asked, oblivious to the other cats. Hawkear nodded amusedly. His lands closed around her and lifted her with the utmost gentleness.

Safely cradled in his arms, she rubbed against his chin affectionately. _"What are you __**doing**__ out here?"_ she wondered.

"Winnie was telling me about how the owners of the campsites and boat rentals were setting traps in the woods, and I grew worries. So I came to look for you. I followed the maps the way you told me."

"_Did she say why they were setting traps?"_

The former former-former Commodore shook his head. "I didn't think to ask."

From their hiding place, Brambleclaw turned to Firestar. "They can understand one another."

"She mentioned she had come with a friend and been separated," Firestar recalled. "She never said it was another cat."

"She also said she wasn't a kittypet," his deputy reminded him.

He shook his head. "We can sort this out later. Right now, I don't think this Twolegs is any danger. Take the rest of the patrol back to camp with the fish and warn everyone to stay away from here. I'll stay behind and make sure Hawkear is safe."

"_James, do you know if there are any bears in the area?"_

"I can't say."

"_Will you find out?"_

He shrugged. "I can ask around."

She lay her head against his collar. _"Thanks."_ For a few moments they sat in silent embrace, broken only by the motor of her purring. _"Listen, you should go. The Clan leader is getting agitated, and I know the rest of the Clan won't welcome you on their territory."_

"All right."

She leapt from his arms, landing squarely and soundly on all four paws. _"Still jealous?"_ she asked with an un-cattish grin.

"You've no idea."

Her cheer faded a little. _"I miss him."_

"I know, pet. So hurry up and go save the forest."

"_Will do."_

"Oh, and Hawkear..." He paused, blinking. "It is so strange to call you that—anyway, be careful will you?"

She darted into his lap and stood up on her hind paws to lick his cheek. _"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."_ And with that, she disappeared into the forest.

"I sure hope you're right," he replied to the silence.

"That was foolish," Firestar hissed, falling into step with her as she trotted past.

"No it wasn't. He's going to find out more about the bear."

"He's a Twolegs. How can you trust him?"

"I know him. Just like you can trust Brambleclaw and Greystripe and Sandstorm and the rest of the Clan. The only one you can't trust is a certain apprentice whose ambitions are growing—andthisisthepartwhereIshutupandchangethesubject!"

Firestar blinked."How do you know him so well?"

"He's my friend. We understand each other."

"Is he the friend you were separated from?"

"He is."

"But you said you weren't a kittypet."

She halted and whirled around to face him, eyes flashing, hackles rising and tail lashing. "I'm not. He's my friend—not my owner." Firestar looked like he was about to say something else, and she cut him off. "Listen—he's not your enemy. He could be your greatest ally when it comes to things that only Twolegs can control—such as moving bears off to different regions, savvy?" Suddenly, Spottedleaf's words at the half-moon made sense. "HolycrapJamesispartoftheprophecy!" she gasped.

"What was that?"

"I hafta talk to Leafpooooooolll!!" she yowled, taking off pell-mell back to camp. She didn't share the fear in Firestar's heart at the certainty of a resident bear.

"Hawkear?" the medicine cat asked as she stood panting at the entrance to the den. "What happened? What did the patrol find?"

"There is evidence of a bear. But that's not what I'm here to tell you. You remember what Spottedleaf said—about an ally to me being an enemy of friends? It's James." She took a calming breath and settled down to explain. Leafpool looked like she was about to begin an endless string of questions as she finished, when Firestar's yowl rang out to summon a Clan meeting. The cats gathered beneath the Highledge, looking at one another with the expressions of those expecting terrible news. They were not disappointed.

As Firestar described what they had found and what it meant, yowls of shock and fear echoed off the stone walls. "What will happen to my kits?" "What if it finds our camp?" "How can we defend ourselves?" "What are we going to _do_?!"

Firestar shook his head. "I don't know yet. For now, I want there to be two cats watching that area at all times—even at night—and observe the bear."

"For those of you doing that," Hawkear cut in, "roll in damp ferns or wild garlic to mask your scent. Bears have a great sense of smell; almost as good as a dog's."

"Thank you, Hawkear. The Gathering is very soon," the Clan leader went on. "Then we can find out if any of the other Clans have had dealings with it, and perhaps even get their help."

"In the meantime," Brambleclaw added, "you can all be sure that we will be working on a plan."

With that, the meeting was called to an end, and Firestar, Sandstorm, Brambleclaw, and Hawkear retired to Firestar's den to discuss possibilities. "When will your friend be back with news?" the ThunderClan leader demanded.

"As soon as possible, and that's a promise."

"And how can a Twolegs be of any help, anyway?" snorted Brambleclaw.

"Not all Twolegs are mouse-brained," Hawkear pointed out. "Only most of them. They have groups of people dedicated to handling everything—including wildlife. Since Twolegs come here often, they want it to be safe for them. A bear is potentially dangerous. James can contact the wildlife patrol and tell them that a bear is in the area. All the other Twolegs-es need to do is understand that it's not a native animal."

"There can be a lot of 'ifs' in there."

"Yeah. And there's also a lot of hope, and StarClan's support and guidance."

"I don't know," Sandstorm turned to the toms," I think this could work."

"And at the same time, a lot could go wrong," Brambleclaw added.

"And what should _we _do?" Firestar asked, looking uneasy. "We cannot rely on Twolegs alone to get rid of it."

"All right. Then we lead it to the Greenleaf-Twolegplace across the lake (Summer boat-rental area.), where the Twolegs will be able to find it more easily."

"That would mean crossing the other Clans' territories."

"Yes, but it would be beneficial the them if they help us to get rid of it—or else the Twolegs will be tramping all over looking for it. And then if they can't find it, they'll leave, and the bear will still be a threat to the forest." The other cats seemed convinced. _Mom's right,_ she suddenly thought. _I __**should**__ be a lawyer!_

——————————

That evening, as the sun was setting, as she was settling into her nest, Hawkear contacted James. "_I'm just getting back to the barn. What is it, pet?_"

"_I want you to contact the animal control unit before you come back. Tell them about an increase in badger sets, and that it's a good idea to capture and relocate most of them._"

"_Why only most?"_

"_The Clans need problems sometimes to draw them closer as Clans. Besides, one or two badgers isn't __**nearly**__ as bad as the number going around now—a border patrol and two hunting patrols each had encounters with badgers just today! It's only a matter of time before they actually start coming after cats! I mean personally, I think the badgers are more dangerous than the bear!"_

"_All right. I shall see what can be done."_

"_Thanks, James. G'night-luvya-bye."_

——————————

The next day, about midmorning, everything seemed to be peaceful. The sun was shining in golden rays through the trees, dappling the forest floor. The fresh-kill pile was steadily growing already. The morning trap patrols had returned without news of new traps, and with news that the badger by the Sky Oak had been killed in the un-tampered trap. The border and hunting patrols were on schedule. It was easy to be hopeful on a day like this.

The strong reek of garlic and plant-life preceded the arrival of a bear-watcher, and Ashfur burst through the thorn tunnel. Firestar greeted him. "We've seen the bear. It was sleeping all night, but when it woke up this morning, it moved off in the direction of the clearing on the ShadowClan border where there was some battle training going on. I sent Brackenfur to fetch them and the rest of the patrols while I came back to warn you."

"Well done, Ashfur. Do you think it is safe to follow its movements?"

"I can't say. Its claws are enormous though. The whole _thing_ is enormous."

"Then I won't risk your life following it. Get some rest."

Tense minutes passed. Honeypaw and Sandstorm returned, followed soon after be the border patrol, the hunting patrol, and finally, Brackenfur. "Is that everyone?" Hawkear asked calmly, in spite of the anxious and fearful cats around her.

"Yes, down to the last apprentice."

"Good."

"How can we defend ourselves?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?! You—you who knows everything about them when you came."

Hawkear silenced him with a lash of her tail. "I know some things, but not everything! And that is no fault of mine."

"I'm sorry." The Clan leader allowed his fur to lie flat. "I worry."

"And you're right to. But worrying isn't going to help."

Firestar whisked around to face his warriors. "Thornclaw —keep watch on the north corner of the hollow. Brackenfur —take the east side. Cloudtail —the west side. Sorreltail —the southern corner." These cats moved off. "Ashfur, Dustpelt, Brambleclaw, and Stormfur —take your apprentices and guard the entrance with me—Hawkear, you stay here. Sandstorm, keep the other warriors and apprentices ready for battle in case this thing comes here." And with that, he raced out the thorn tunnel.

Hawkear watched them go, not envying them one bit. "And now," she sighed to Leafpool beside her, "we wait." In retrospect, while the quarry lay in the same direction from the bear-glade as the clearing did, the odds of said bear actually coming to the camp were slim. However, anything can happen, and it seems like StarClan had a surprise in mind for the Clan cats.

Ignoring the orders of Sandstorm, she pushed her way into the thorn barrier where the rock walls disappeared into the ground, disregarding the scratches and stings, and stayed there hidden, watching silently through the barrier. "What are you _doing_?" a black apprentice, Hollypaw, hissed behind her. While she felt that many of the outsiders in her Clan were a part of it, she was against the idea of welcoming strangers—including Greystripe's mate, Millie! It was in the warrior code, after all...

She had a lot to learn though. "Observing," came a bafflingly nonchalant reply.

Excruciatingly slow minutes followed. After a time, one of the sentries yowled, "Bear! Approaching from the direction of the Lake!" Hawkear saw Firestar's ears flick back to catch the alert, and heard him exchange words with his warriors and their apprentices. Tense moments followed.

And then...

The sound of clumsy pawsteps crashing through the undergrowth seemed to echo deafeningly in an eerie silence.

The ferns waved wildly, the bushes trembled, and there! The bear came into sight. It was a small, black bear (in colour, mind, not species) with long fur, longer still around its neck like a mane. On its chest was a 'V' of gold. It snuffled along, nose to the ground, front paws slightly pigeon-toed. Nothing in its demeanor was threatening, nor showed that it had taken and notice of the cat-scent all around it. But Firestar and Brambleclaw had take no notice of these, seeing only the great claws and the dog-like snout, and the sheer size of the thing (for while it was a small kind of bear, it was a bit larger than the dogs they had faced, and much, much larger than badgers or foxes.) The creature's nose took an idle turn toward the thorn tunnel, and Ashfur, thinking it was advancing on the camp, flung himself at it with a war cry.

"No!" Firestar yowled.

The bear looked up, ears pricked, and did a small half-rear, swatting the warrior away like a fly. Ashfur went sailing and landed hard. He didn't get up. The bear turned his attention to the rest of the patrol. He loped toward them, paws thumping against the pine needles and old leaves. Something about the way he moved got the wheels turning in Hawkear's mind. _Why, he just wants to play!_ She didn't get the chance to voice her discovery though, for the patrol, too moved by fear to see what she could, launched themselves at it. The bear bleated (well how else would one describe it?) playfully, bounding through their springs and leaps, stopping to sniff curiously at a cat crouching to swipe at him and frolicking like an excited puppy, as though glad for the company of what he thought were new playmates. "Wait!" Hawkear yowled, bursting from the thorn barrier. "Stop! He just wants to play! It he figures out that you're trying to hurt him, he might become aggravated." The patrol stopped at once. "And then you'd really be in trouble."

However, the bear wasn't done playing. He stood up on his hindlegs, about to come down on them with his forepaws as if he were playing with a fellow bear. As if in slow motion, his descent began, forepaws stretching out, claws gleaming, as the cats below him cowered, cornered against a rock and with nowhere to go.

And then there was James. He came out of nowhere, with a thick branch or stick that he braced horizontally across his two hands. The bear's paws fell square against it and broke its fall. He threw the bear's weight off and it was grounded. It considered him a moment, then let out a happy bray and grabbed the staff in his teeth. There followed a short game of tug-o-war, which the creature quickly won. The branch flew uselessly into the bushes. The bear reared again onto its hindlegs, and seemed to be expecting something from the Twolegs.

Suddenly remembering what one was supposed to do in such a situation, James began to yell and wave his arms, hoping to frighten or discourage the beast. However, as Hawkear could perceive, the motions had an entirely different meaning to the bear. _"James!"_ she cried. _"Dance with him!"_

"Are you daft, woman?!"

The bear came down, paws outstretched, expecting to be caught. No hands caught his, and his paws came crashing down on the human, claws sinking into his shoulder.

"_James!!"_ He grunted in pain, teeth gritted, glaring at the beast below him. The poor, confused animal sank lower to the ground, not understanding what he had done wrong.

"Get out of here!" Norrington exploded, demeanor a mixture of fear and fury as he clutched his shoulder. Surprise of surprises, the bear obeyed, loping off into the woods, probably back to its nest by the lakeside to mope.

Firestar and his warriors—and the whole rest of the Clan who were watching through the thorn barrier as Hawkear had been—stared after the retreating animal. As its scent began to fade, all eyes were on the Twolegs, who was still crouched, staring after the bear. _"James!" _Hawkear cried.

He looked down to see her sitting expectantly at his feet, staring up at him with big, anxious eyes, and kneeled on one knee, leaning down to her level. "Hi, pet."

"_I won't say you handled that correctly, but you handled it__** well**__. I won't say I'm not proud of you, cuz if I wasn't about to essplode from fright, I'd essplode from purring."_

"Th...that Twolegs," Berrypaw stammered. "I-it defended us."

James massaged his shoulder. "I hadn't presumed it would sting."

"_You should get yourself patched up. It's too bad the Horseplace is so far away."_

"Bring him into camp," ordered Leafpool. (The cats' voices were translated into James' mind through Hawkear's, for his own sake that he might understand what was going on.) James looked up at her. Other cats were murmuring, some with protest, others with awe and wonder, and still more with uncertainty. "His wounds need treating, and it cannot wait until he can get back to the Horseplace. Hawkear, get him inside."

"_Aye-aye, cap'm!" _She signaled with her tail for James to follow, and led him around the thorn barrier to the edge of the hollow at its lowest point. _"Try not to move your arm, and be careful on the landing."_ He stared at her contemplatively, brows knitting together, then over the edge, judging the distance, and hopped over, landing with an almost cat-like grace...before overbalancing and falling back in his rump. He leaned back against the wall, pulling his shirt aside so he could look at the results.

"'Not so bad...'" For or five wide gashes ran across his shoulder. Hawkear, Leafpool and Jaypaw darted into the Medicine-cat's den—which was conveniently next to him. They returned moments later with bundles of herbs and probably the largest portion of cobwebs ever used in a single sitting.

"_Lie down and keep your shirt out of the way,"_ Hawkear instructed him.

"They're not deep, pet. Really. I'm fine."

"_Silly goose,"_ she purred, climbing into his lap and rubbing against his face. _"Even the tiniest thorn-prick can be your death if it gets infected. Now lie down."_ He complied. Hawkear sat at his uninjured shoulder, and Leafpool and Jaypaw posted themselves at the other. Jaypaw looked on, herbs at the ready, as Leafpool bent over the injury. _"This'll sting a little,"_ the lass mewed to him as the medicine cat rasped her tongue over the area to clean it. The rest of the Clan gathered round them, watching in awe from a safe distance.

James turned to face his aunt. "Now what was all this madness about dancing with that bear?"

"_I was getting some pretty strong vibes about waltzing with a Twolegs. And its movements were playful, not threatening. It's a tame bear. Maybe from a circus."_

James paled. "'Circus Missing Bear.'"

"_I imagine that's what the headlines would say, yeah."_

"That's what they _did_ say," he realized. "The day we arrived in this Realm—I had a newspaper with me that had a story with that title."

"_And you never said anything?"_

"I never though it would be of any importance. It seemed like such a small detail, and it slipped my mind so swiftly after I noticed it."

"_Wait, wait. This is __**good**__ news. We know where the bear comes from."_ she motioned Firestar over. _"He knows there the bear came from. And the Twolegs that care for it are searching all over. All that has to be done is—."_

James hissed with a wince as a poultice of comfrey, goldenrod, and marigold was pressed into his shoulder.

"Sorry," muttered Jaypaw. "I didn't know how hard to press it in for a Twolegs."

"It's all right, small one," the man rumbled. Hawkear translated for them. "Just a little surprised, that's all."

"This Twolegs isn't bad at all," some of the cats were beginning to mutter.

Hawkear twitched her ears and turned back to Firestar. _"As soon as the bear's Twolegs can be alerted, they'll be on their way to collect it. It's up to us to get him to where they can find him."_

"Speaking of alerting," the Twolegs cut in, "the animal control will be on this territory some time in the next fortnight to relocate badgers."

"_James called some Twolegs to remove badgers,"_ Hawkear translated.

"That's great," Firestar purred. "Good news on a day like today."

"_Problem! First off, it's another halfmoon's time before they come, and secondly, it'll mean Twolegs will be tramping all over the territory for at least another quarter-moon after that."_

"They'll frighten away all the prey!"

"_Not if you hunt by night,"_ she pointed out, curling her tail round her paws. _"The patrol'll prob'ly be working by day, so if you guard the camp from them by day and hunt by night, you should be fine. And if a Twolegs finds its way into your camp, all you hafta do is hide. The nursery, medicine den, and Highledge should be able to hide most of you, if not all. You shouldn't stay in any other bushes or caves, because they might think badgers would fancy living in them, and will poke around."_

"I told them that the quarry was unaffected."

"_Doesn't mean they won't take a look around."_

"Then I suppose there is no other way to get rid of all these badgers," Firestar sighed, before changing the subject. "The Gathering is three nights away. We need to convince the other Clans there."

"_No problem."_

Leafpool and Jaypaw were carefully pressing cobwebs over everything to stop the bleeding. "Most absurd methods ever witnessed," James was muttering, but Hawkear could tell he was amazed.

"Done," the medicine cat announced. "I don't want him to move much, and it would be great if he could stay overnight and leave in the morning so I can check for infection before he goes."

"_Firestar?"_

"As long as he is out of the way, I don't see much harm in it. Can we trust him?"

"I'll sit here all day."

"_Now now, at least let the man find a more comfortable place out of the sun."_ With Leafpool's approval, James stalked across camp, sat leaning against the wall in the shade, elbow propped on knee as if to keep things elevated, and did not move from that spot all day.

As the day progressed, Hawkear lay beside him, tucking her paws beneath her, and kept him company. His fingers stroked her fur absently as the two idle watched the goings of the camp through half-lidded eyes.

"How do you suppose they can understand each other?" Brambleclaw asked as he and Firestar watched them from a distance.

"She said they are friends. They must have spent a long time together to create a way of communication."

"But a Twolegs, of all creatures. I would have been less surprised if she were friends with that bear."

"Well she _did_ seem to understand the thing..." Firestar mused. He observed Hawkear rolling onto her back. "I've never once seen her do that until now. She really feels safe with him."

"She said they traveled together for a long time," his deputy reminded him. "They've probably faced dangers of all kinds together."

"That's the truth," he mewed, watching the Twolegs rubbing her white tummy. "I have an idea. Fetch Sandstorm and meet me in my den."

"Right away."

There was a Twolegs staying overnight in the ThunderClan camp.

* * *

Oki, so that's not a great ending, but that's where I wanted to end the chapter. I mean...it's long enough, isn't it? Twenty typed-pages? It took forEVER to type it up.

Chapter Nineteen has a beginning now, and it will be the last chapter in the Warriors crossover, for anyone who is getting bored with it.

Happy reviewing :3


	19. The Porthos Game

Hey eyerybody! Look look, I got this chapter out in less than a month! Fancy that! Yeah, I'm cranking out the pages; it's 11:30 at night, and I should be packing instead, but I also need to get up on time tomorrow so I can generally be awake through the football game—which I'm leaving in the middle of to go on the trip to West Philly—the very same that I went on two years ago (and is described in Chapter Two).

(Edit: Okay, it's not the middle of the night right now—it was going to be, but it was so dang late at night. So now, I am frantically updating before leaving for the above-mentioned football game. Yeah marching band!)

Thanks for all the reviews! This is one of the first times we've had ten reviews for a single chapter in a looooooooonnngg time.

**Little Miss Sparrow: **Glad to know my profile is so entertaining. I can only hope that my stories are just as much and more. And I know what you mean about juggling school and a sport. Band sucks up most of my time, and homework is worse than ever (stupid eleventh grade!) -shakes fish-

**Inwë: **Thought who was related because they were so similar, now? I'm a tad confused. o.0

**ArmoredSoul:** It's called Warriors, and as seen above, the first book is called 'Into the Wild', written by Erin Hunter. (followed by another five books to complete that story, then by 'The New Prophecy' which is a completely different story continuing from the first six, and then by 'Power of Three' which is the third...oh heck, if you're confused enough just check out the order in wikipedia). KITTEH!

**Authoressinhiding:** I know, I know, I hafta read 'Back Again', I know. I haven't had any time, and whatever time I _do_ have is devoted to updating. P.S. Sorry about all the PO3 spoilers... In other news, I kind of stopped watching Pirate Master after it was taken off the air, but Azmyth was mutinied against (unanimously) and Ben won the whole kit and caboodle.

**Stormwake:** Believe me when I say it's difficult. I hardly have any time to write, and it's tough just keeping my page-a-day commitment. A lot of the time I don't even feel like writing. Too bad about your Potter craze. Is it over yet, or has my mentioning it brought it back from the grave?

**Destinysway114:** Yeah, I kinda thought it would be really obvious with the bear, but hey, I had to drop a hint somewhere, lol. Hope you get the chance to read the books soon. See my reply to **ArmoredSoul**'s review above.

**RespectTheSporks:** Any information you need is in my reply to **ArmoredSoul**'s review above. The series is called Warriors, by Erin Hunter, and the first book is called 'Into the Wild'. Thanks for the review. Ireland was wonderful.

**Disclaimer** **Disney: **This franchise is off-limits to civilians.  
**Captain MeraSparrow:** I'm terribly sorry. I didn't know. If I see one, I shall inform you immediately.

**Chapter Nineteen: The Porthos Game**

The day seemed to progress slowly. There was only one badger encounter that day, as luck had it, and things almost seemed back to normal. ...Besides the fact that a Twolegs was in the ThunderClan camp...

"_Aren't you in any pain?"_ Hawkear had asked.

James snorted. "This is nothing. I've suffered worse injury than this." He winced as memories flooded his mind and hoped to G-d that the girl was not seeing them. "Far, far worse."

Now, they sat as before, silently watching the world go by. A grey tom approached and spoke with Hawkear. _"Sorry, James, I have to go train with Stormfur. Will you be all right until I get back?"_

"I won't be able to understand anyone, but I don't suppose that is a problem." She nodded and left him. Sunhigh came and went. After some time, a young, light-brown tabby apprentice padded up to him. She looked up at him, mouth opening in a questioning meow. He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't understand you." She cocked her head, listening curiously to his voice, then trotted off, tail sticking straight up. She returned soon after, a mouse dangling from her teeth which she dropped at her paws, looking up at him and chirruping. "Er...thanks..." He tried not to wrinkle his nose; it was obvious the young cat was only trying to feed him.

"Honeypaw, what are you doing?" Hollypaw cried, scampering to her friend and batting the mouse out of the Twolegs' reach. "You can't give our mice to a Twolegs!"

The tabby looked like she was about to disagree, when her mentor and Firestar appeared. "Hollypaw is right," Sandstorm meowed with amusement. The black apprentice looked pleased with herself.

"Yes," Firestar agreed. "Give him one of the fish instead." Honeypaw beamed and trotted back to the fresh-kill pile.

Hollypaw gaped at her grandparents. "What?" That was _not_ what she had meant.

Firestar shrugged innocently. "Fish are the only things Twolegs can eat without setting fire to it." The amusement in his eyes proved he did not take the apprentice's concerns about sharing prey with one of their greatest enemies seriously. Before she could reply, he padded away. With a frustrated and confused sigh, she left to find her mentor.

Honeypaw returned quickly, dropping one of the bear's half-eaten fish into the Twolegs' lap. "Oh... well... Thank you." It wasn't like he hadn't eaten raw fish before; and besides, he was hungry. He reached out in gratitude, but when the young cat recoiled, he withdrew with a sheepish smile. "Sorry," And he lifted the morsel and sank his teeth into the red fillet.

Pride swelled in Honeypaw's little chest. She'd communicated food to a Twolegs. Just like Hawkear! If the stranger had been aware that she was being idolized by an apprentice, she would have laughed and acted as enigmatic as possible.

——————————

Hawkear returned late in the afternoon, after a successful and enlightening session of battle training. Brambleclaw trotted to meet her, meowing, "Firestar wants to see you." She nodded and approached him where he sat near James.

"I have an idea," he mewed when she asked him. "We should hold a warrior ceremony."

"Already? None of the apprentices seem ready yet."

Firestar shook his head. "For your Twolegs."

"His name is James. And what are you talking about? A Twolegs can't be a part of a Clan."

"That is true. However, it is my idea to honour his courage this morning. And what better way to honour him than to make him an honourary warriors and give him a warrior name?"

"It _would_ be the perfect souvenir to take with us when we leave." Firestar's ears twitched, as if in disappointment that she hadn't changed her mind. "How do you want him to act? I can have him do exactly as a Clan cat would, if you want. Just say the word."

"If it would help him to feel the honour better, then by all means tell him how a Clan cat does it. The ceremony will be at sundown." She nodded and bounded over to James, where he was chewing thoughtfully at a fish bone, springing into his lap and telling him excitedly about what would take place. Firestar watched her chattering away and turned to leave.

James was excited. And a bit uncertain.(In fact, quite a lot uncertain. And disbelieving, too.) He watched the retreating ginger form. What an honour he was being given!

——————————

The sun was setting, casting a golden-orange light on everything. The cats of ThunderClan had gathered around their leader. He announced that a ceremony would be held to make the Twolegs an honourary warrior. Several cats stated their disapproval, but none yowled out as had been expected. Firestar explained the nature of the idea, and the Clan seemed to approve. Hawkear and James sat together at the front of the group; James was lounging as cat-like as he could contort himself in an effort to fit in just a little and hope the cats were viewing him seriously and not as a clown of sorts. Firestar began this unique ceremony by calling to his Clan, "Will you accept this Twolegs who has saved all of us as an honourary warrior?" As one, the Clan solemnly meowed their approval. He sprang down from the Highledge to meet the two strangers, locking gazes with the Twolegs for a few moments before raising his eyes to where the first stars of Silverpelt were beginning to appear in the evening sky. "I, Firestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down upon this Twolegs," his voice rang out, echoing around the hushed hollow. "He followed your guidance to our aid, and put himself in danger to defend our Clan, and I commend him to you as an honourary warrior in his turn." He turned to James (and Hawkear), once again locking gazes. "James, do you promise to uphold the honour we give you, and to protect and defend this Clan, should you return, even at the cost of your life?"

_It's much like the oath I swore into the Navy,_ she heard him muse in her mind. He raised his chin. "I do."

"He does."

"Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. James, from this moment you will be known as Bearclaw. StarClan honours your bravery and quick thinking, and we welcome you as an honourary warrior of ThunderClan." Bearclaw bowed his head so that Firestar could step forward and rest his muzzle on top of it. In return, Bearclaw delicately and respectfully licked the ThunderClan leader's shoulder before backing away on all fours (in that awkward crouch that was a human's best feline imitation.)

There were a few awkward moments of silence before the apprentices (with the exception of Jaypaw and Hollypaw) and younger warriors surrounded him, chanting his name. "Bearclaw! Bearclaw!" Hawkear, and even Firestar and Sandstorm joined in, and so did the rest of the Clan after a while. Bearclaw (although he still thought of himself as James) looked around at the cheering cats and allowed himself a smile.

Night came, and it was decided that, because of his less-sharp senses and injured shoulder, James would not have to sit silent vigil and guard the camp that night.

He lay with his back against a wall of the hollow, curled up on his good side, knees drawn up for warmth in the surprising coolth of this night. Hawkear lay beside him, paws tucked neaetly underneath her. Honeypaw joined them, and at length, so did her two sisters, Cinderpaw and Poppypaw.

"Aw, Mom, we wanna help keep Bearclaw warm," Hawkear heard Foxkit reasoning with his mother, Ferncloud.

"No," she hissed softly. "Twolegs, however nice they may seem, are always dangerous."

"But Bearclaw's different," Icekit protested, "he's a _warrior_ now."

Eventually, Daisy gave her opinion, favoring the kits' points, and all four curled up against the Twolegs. More and more warriors came to join them, until all but Firestar, Brambleclaw, Jaypaw, Hollypaw, and those cats on watch for the night, were surrounding them and keeping their newest warrior warm as he slept.

Observing him sleeping as she hadn't before, Hawkear noticed at length that he twitched as he dreamed, much like many of the cats around him. _"Neh...neh... Muffins,"_ she heard him saying as she listened to his thoughts. She had to bury her muzzle in her paws to suppress the uncontrollable laughter that followed. Once calmed, she settled into the peacefully noisy silence and fall cheerfully asleep.

——————————

Hawkear stared at the translucent chrysalis with longing, saddened green eyes. It hung nestled in the branches of a massive thornbush, safe from most danger. "Jack," she whispered to it. "I'll come for you soon."

Two nights had passed since the incident with the bear. James, with Leafpool's approval, had left on schedule. Now, Hawkear, Firestar, his deputy, and those he had chosen to join them (after having solemnly sworn not to mention Bearclaw to any cat) had made their way to the Island for the Gathering. Cats of all Clans had trekked to this island to share news under the sacred truce of the full moon. They were busy chatting with friends of other Clans in the clearing at the centre of the Island. An enormous tree with several low, bare branches overlooked the clearing. It was from here that the leaders perched on the thickest, lowest branch, their deputies sitting on the roots below, yowled for silence. The Clans quieted to pay attention, and the leaders began to share their news.

"ShadowClan has a few new additions; Tawnypelt has had her kits," announced Blackstar. The cats in the clearing cheered, but Hawkear, hidden from the sight of others by the immense form of Brambleclaw, felt him stiffen. His sister had had kits? "However, the Twolegs' traps have increased in number. None of our cats have been caught in any of them."

_Oh, Blackstar,_ thought Hawkear with amused reproach, _ever unwilling to make the Clan seem weak._

The ShadowClan leader stepped back, and Leopardstar took her turn. "RiverClan has new apprentices in Dapplepaw and Pouncepaw." The Clans cheered the apprentices' names, before Leopardstar continued. "There are not to many traps on our territory as before. However, a quarter-moon ago, our warriors found great pawprints and the remains of dead fish in our territory." Hawkear pricked her ears. "Whatever it was has moved off, but its tracks led into WindClan territory."

Onestar took this as his cue to begin. "Yes, WindClan have seen these also, as well as scores of claw marks on a few trees." Many of the cats below looked at one another and shifted from paw to paw apprehensively. "Also, Webfoot has chosen to retire to the life of an elder." The other elders turned to him and mewed their welcome.

Finally, Firestar's turn came. "ThunderClan, too, has seen these signs WindClan and RiverClan have seen, and more. The creature seems to have settled on our territory and came very close to discovering our camp." Hawkear breathed a sigh of relief that he had not mentioned James. Brambleclaw brushed his tail understandingly against her paws, an ear flicking momentarily toward her. Firestar, meanwhile, went on to describe the bear in much detail. The RiverClan and WindClan cats looked at one another with wide, frightened eyes, now knowing what had only very recently been on _their_ territories. The ThunderClan cats were nodding in agreement (some with tails fluffed out in memory), however the ShadowClan cats looked a bit smugger than usual. Firestar tuened to the other leaders. "I come to you now to ask for your help. Through carefully watching the bear in the way it reacted to one of our warriors," he said 'warrior', not _'cat'_, "we have seen its movements as playful, though subject to change if it recognizes aggression. And through a small incident with a Twolegs," small?, "we have found out that it escaped from its own Twolegs. A rogue told us that its Twolegs are searching for it at the Greenleaf Twolegplace bordering ShadowClan and RiverClan. What we ask of you is that you help us to lead it to that place, where its Twolegs will find it and take it away."

"That would require crossing enemy territory," Leopardstar pointed out.

"But it would benefit RiverClan as much as anyone else."

"WindClan will help you," Onestar announced.

"Thank you," Firestar said with relief, the warmth in his eyes showing their old friendship.

"This bear has only recently been on WindClan territory, and it may decide to return. It is better to face it now with the aid of other Clans than to face it alone."

Leopardstar was nodding her head also. "We have fish to spare that might add to a trail it could follow. RiverClan will help you as well." Firestar mewed his gratitude.

"Well ShadowClan won't," Blackstar growled. "I'm not risking _my_ warriors to save _your_ Clan."

"We'll need everyone's help if we are going to succeed," Onestar entreated.

"This bear has not trod on ShadowClan territory. It is no problem of ours."

"That's not necessarily true," Littlecloud, the ShadowClan medicine cat, interjected. "Have you noticed the direction the bear is moving? RiverClan, WindClan, ThunderClan... If it continues around the lake, it's inevitable that it will enter our territory. And then it will continue moving around the Lake and harassing _all_ the Clans and acting as a constant threat. Its Twolegs will scour every pawstep of every territory looking for it. No cat will be safe."

"But only _if_ it decides to move, and that's a very big if," Blackstar protested. "Firestar said it himself that this bear has settled on his territory. It is no problem of ShadowClan's."

Littlecloud stepped closer so that only the leaders and deputies (and Hawkears) were in earshot. "Please, Blackstar. At the half moon, StarClan showed me the same signs as have been described. If we don't help to make sure it is returned to its Twolegs, then it _will_ spell our destruction. This is as much ShadowClan's problem as any other Clan's. Don't be a fool. Would you risk some of your warriors or your entire Clan?"

Blackstar contemplated him wordlessly for long moments before raising his voice so that all could hear; "ShadowClan will lend whatever help it can to ensure that the bear has left the forest."

Hawkear narrowed her eyes. _I knew there was a reason I liked Littlecloud,_ she thought, suppressing a purr.

"Thank you, Blackstar," Firestar said with great relief.

"Don't think I'm doing is for _you_," the ShadowClan leader growled. "Besides... there should always be four Clans at the Lake."

Hawkear sensed Brambleclaw's amusement. "But this still does not answer what we will do," Leopardstar pointed out.

"And that's where we tell you the second part of our news," meowed Brambleclaw as Hawkear appeared from behind him. There was a collective gasp, and several cats murmured apprehensively.

"Who is that?" Onestar demanded sharply.

"This is Hawkear," Firestar announced. "She is a rogue who has traveled all over, studying Twolegs and predators like bears for the benefit of other cats."

"And is _she_ joining ThunderClan _too_?" one cat yowled, showing his disdain for the number of outcasts Firestar had allowed into the Clan.

Brambleclaw's pelt bristled beside Hawkear as the challenge to his leader's wisdom. "No," the ginger cat answered firmly. "She is only here so long as the bear it, and then she will be leaving." This seemed to quiet the discontent. "Hawkear has worked with m and many of our warriors to devise a plan."

"Well? Tell us then," ordered Leopardstar, shifting aside so that Hawkear could leap up onto the branch amid the other leaders.

Stage fright overcame the tabby for a moment, before she sought out her friends in ThunderClan and the familiar faces of others. "We all need to work together to lead the bear to the Greenleaf Twolegplace. My thinking; set a trail of food. RiverClan can catch fish for it to eat (don't worry, it'll only eat the fatty parts and you can feed the rest of your Clan), and other Clans can gather berries and small animals."

"And if it doesn't follow that trail?" demanded Tornear of WindClan.

Hawkear rolled her eyes with a flick of her tail and a twitch of her ears. "I was getting to that. ShadowClan, being the best at hiding and stalking, can keep a close eye on the bear's actions. If it doesn't take the bait, some cat can alert WindClan. WindClan are the fastest cats, or so it is seen, and therefor would face the least danger in this next task: the bear is playful and interprets cats as others to play with, although his play is much to dangerous for we who are not bears. The idea is that WindClan can appear playful and lead it on a chase or a progressive game of tag."

"And what are RiverClan and ThunderClan doing?" Blackstar sneered disdainfully.

"RiverClan are supplying precious prey, and hosting the chase in their territory. ThunderClan is doing the same, as well as helping to lead the chase with those of us who may be quick enough. If any cat tires, he or she can jump into a tree or a thicket. Bears can climb trees, yes, but cats are much more agile, and if another cat can continue the chase where one leaves off, the bear should not follow up into the trees." She allowed time for her logic to sink in, muttering with a sigh to herself, "If only some of these cats could jump like Cherrytail and Sparrowpelt.: Firestar, sitting beside her, startled as he overheard and turned to face her. However, the heavy silence in the clearing was uninterrupted, though it was obvious that he was burning with questions.

After such a long time, Blackstar swallowed and said, "Very well. When shall we put your plan into action?"

Hawkear was silent for another few moments, quickly asking James when the circus would be returning. "Three days," she announced.

"Preparations should begin immediately," Onestar pointed out. The other leaders agreed, and there followed a detailed discussion concerning territories and crossing the borders before the Gathering was finally pronounced over and all the Clans returned home.

_Three days, Jack_, Hawkear thought as she padded back toward ThunderClan territory, remembering the chrysalis in the bush. _Three days._

——————————

The sun dawned golden three days later, and the medicine cats all deemed it a good sign. Hawkear and a small patrol had risen early and were helping RiverClan cats on ThunderClan territory to begin laying the trail of fish, small rodents, and berries. There was a small ShadowClan patrol keeping a watch on the bear. It had not yet risen from its slumber.

The sun seemed hardly to have moved in the sky when a messenger was sent with words that prickled Hawkear's fur: the bear had already found their trail and was following it eagerly and hungrily. The bait-patrol was only just inside WindClan territory. "We need to pick up the pace, and get the trail as far as possible before the bear gets dangerously close," Hawkear told them. "Then the runners will have to come into play."

However, the bear had woken up ravenous, and was polishing off pile after small pile of bait. It was drawing too close for comfort by the time the bait-patrol was a third of the way across WindClan territory—much closer than they had hoped. This was when the first WindClan chase patrol was sent out. The bear, feeling playful after its meals, gave a joyful maw and followed them at a laid back lope before eventually tiring of his inability to catch them and speeding into a full gallop. The cats, having relaxed at the initial slow pace, now sprinted away in panic, some dashing out of sight and scent and flying up trees, eyes huge, ears flat, tails fluffed out, claws piercing the bark of the branches they clung to. In a short time, the bear was led to one of the large bait-piles, which it would hopefully dine on while the next chase patrol could be organized and the preceding could rest and calm themselves.

——————————

The misleading peace of the RiverClan camp was disrupted as Ivypaw burst through the reeds with news that the bear had not eaten the most recent large pile. "We must send out the next runners," Leopardstar ordered.

"None of our warriors have recovered enough yet," growled Ashfoot, deputy of WindClan.

"What are we going to do?!" wailed a young apprentice in fright.

"We need _some cat_ to lead the bear away before it stumbles across RiverClan," said a frantic queen, wrapping her tail protectively around her kits.

"I'll go," said a voice from behind them. They turned to face Hawkear.

There was a short, awed silence before Mistyfoot (RiverClan's deputy) meowed, "But you're not as fast as a WindClan warrior—the bear will catch you for sure."

"I'm a fresh cat. That's got to be better than an exhausted one."

"Well you are not going alone," Leopardstar said responsibly. "Who else is willing to go?"

"I will." The form of the grey WindClan warrior Crowfeather padded through the cats to stand beside the young tabby.

"I will go too," said Mistyfoot, ignoring her leader's disapproving look and joining the two.

"Count me in," Stormfur called, nudging his way to sit beside his temporary apprentice.

Two more WindClan warriors and one apprentice announced that they were rested enough. Brambleclaw completed the patrol. "This is the final stretch, then," he meowed. "We'll need every cat we can get." at length, even Ivypaw agreed to join. There were cats from every Clan in this group, now.

Firestar padded up to face Hawkear. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, green eyes remorseful."You could be _killed_."

"Not with your faith and StarClan's help."

"This isn't your burden to carry."

She shook her head. "I _made_ it my burden by coming to help you in the first place. Now I must see my mission to the end. This is something I must do."

Firestar narrowed his eyes in understanding and rested his muzzle on top of her head, almost like in a warrior ceremony. "Hawkear, your story will be passed on for generations to come. Yours and BearClaw's."

"No," she meowed. "Mine is not a story to be passed on except in times of despair with Twolegs." The World Order must be preserved.

He purred softly. "You will be remembered anyway. Now go and fulfill this destiny that StarClan have chosen for you."

She licked his shoulder respectfully, as though she had just been made a warrior, locking gazes with him for long moments before silently whisking away to lead the patrol out of camp. "C'mon, mates. We got us a bear to find," she sighed.

With a growing sense of trepidation, she padded through the reeds, over the peat and soft earth, following Brambleclaw's lead and the bear's scent trail. The smell was growing stronger and stronger with every pawstep, and at length a great rumbling sound echoed in their ears. Brambleclaw sniffed cautiously at a thick copse before lashing his tail violently, signaling for the patrol to stop. "It's in there," he mouthed. Ivypaw, being the only shadowClan cat and therefore the most silent mover, stalked forward, paws making no sound on the pine needles underpaw, and poked her head through the leaves.

"It's asleep," she whispered caustically with a superior sniff, thinking the other cats weak to fear something that was sleeping.

"That doesn't make it any less dangerous," Hawkear warned. "And we have to make sure it wakes up before its Twolegs leave."

"You mean we'll have to wake it up?!" a WindClan warrior yowled in alarm.

Hawkear flicked her tail (she would have facepalmed if she could), suddenly agitated. "No, I mean you've already woken it!"

In a moment, the bear exploded through the bushes. Half the patrol took momentary flight before regaining their wits. The creature pricked its round ears at the nearest Hawkear, and bent down to sniff her. Her heart was pounding wildly, her ears flat against her skull and eyes huge before she took a deep breath and wove around its paws in the most playful manner a scared-sbeepless cat could muster before the bear rose onto its hindpaws and spotted the other cats. It brayed happily and Hawkear darted away, the chase beginning.

With the bear's great paws thundering on the soft ground close behind them, they crashed through the trees. At long last, they burst into the open, and the pace picked up a little. Now they only had to lead it across _most _of the RiverClan territory. Yeah. They flashed across the grasslands, heading into the marshes. With all the recent rain, the land was boggy and unstable (much like Tia Dalma's bayou). Cats were tiring already, trying to keep the same pace through the terrain while the bear was having a good ol' time getting muddy and playing tag. Even before they were halfway through the marshes, the two apprentices dropped out and sprang into hiding places.

In one stretch of land where the ground was more solid, very near the tree-bridge to the Island, Crowfeather and the other two WindClan warriors doubled back to circle around the bear to re-interest it in the 'game'. The foremost wove precariously around the creature's forelegs and under its belly while the other two wound around it, jumping into dog-like play-bows. The bear swung its great head left and right excitedly, trying to watch all of them at once. Finally, it mawed and bucked a few times, sending the two warriors fleeing in terror and Crowfeather to continue the chase on his own. Mistyfoot, Brambleclaw, Stormfur, and Hawkear raced out from their hiding places, somewhat refreshed, to help him.

He meowed something crossly at them—which the could not make out over the sounds of their own breathing—but they knew he was relieved.

The solid ground soon came to an en, and the group entered the marshes again. Only the mud and peat were deeper and stickier. Is sucked at Hawkear's paws and she sank up to her elbows and knees with every stride. Few of the other cats were faring much better, and the bear wasn't sinking in nearly as deeply—and thus was beginning to catch up to them. Only Mistyfoot was navigating the terrain with ease and little effort, being familiar with this territory, picking her way carefully but swiftly through the peaty quagmires.

Again being randomly observant, Hawkear noticed this and yowled, "Follow Mistyfoot!" She had wanted to say more, but her breath was too short and her already-low endurance was failing. However, the rest of the patrol understood and complied.

At long last, they climbed out of the marshes. Hawkear was beginning to have trouble breathing, but—thank StarClan!—the bear slowed to a walk, distracted by a nearby bees' nest hanging in a tree nearby. The patrol darted under a bush thicket and crouched huddled together, panting for breath. Hawkear did not allow herself the luxury of flopping over, however, for she knew that if she did, she would not get up again. Instead, she padded around the patrol under the bush, taking deep breaths and doing the breathing exercises from band.

Crowfeather and brambleclaw, being the first to recover enough, soon crept away to keep watch on the bear, while Mistyfoot, Stormfur, and Hawkear continued to rest. At length, the latter three poked their heads out of the bush to watch as the bear stood on its hindlegs, leaning with his forepaws against the trunk of a tree, and nosed at a beehive hanging from a branch a few tail-lengths above his head. After a few moments, he swiped his paws at it, battering it until it fell to the ground (much like a piñata). The bees swarmed out of it, and Hawkear, due to a lifelong phobia of stinging insects (although she was perfectly fine with other creepy-crawlies) drew back under the bush, out of sight but still able to see between the leaves. They swarmed around the bear, stinging and attacking. The bear was oblivious to their efforts, though, as he snuffled through the broken hive, seeking out larvae and gobbling them up.

The bear made short work of the hive, and soon sat comically on its rump like a Twolegs, licking the honey off its paws. "Mistyfoot," Stormfur murmured, "make sure Mothwing knows about this place. She could use the honey."

"That's a good idea, Stormfur," she praised her former Clanmate. "I'll do that."

The whole process lasted only a few minutes before Crowfeather and Brambleclaw instigated another game of chase. The other three joined in immediately, but the bear was beginning to tire of the game. The cats had to keep doubling back for short bursts of tag with their pursuer.

After a while of this, Hawkear noticed Mistyfoot beginning to labor, and it was obvious that she would have to fall out at any time. "Just stay with us till the River," she pleaded. "We need your help to cross it." With the mouth of the river already in sight, the gray RiverClan deputy nodded and found the strength to go on, and the patrol surged toward the rushing water.

The point where the River flowed into the Lake was dotted with rocks and deltas all the way across. The cats slowed almost to a stop, the bear loping nearer and nearer, and followed Mistyfoot's lead one by one across the stepping stones, water washing away the mud from the marshes. The quickest and most well-balanced cats went first, followed by those slower or less sure-footed.

While she was surefooted as Amy or as a cat on dry land, she was the opposite on the slippery rocks. She hadn't had the chance to practice this in her feline body. She jumped from rock to rock, unable to predict her landing because of her lack of experience. She slipped every which way, claws leaving scores in the algae and rock. "Come on, Hawkear!" Stormfur was encouraging her. She followed his suggestions calmly and carefully, but it was slow going, and the bear was gaining more and more.

They were perhaps halfway across the small river 9though large to the cats) when the bear reached the bank. It paused to look around for the cats, having momentarily lost sight of them, before lowering its muzzle to drink from the water swirling around its black front paws. That was when it caught sight of the patrol navigating across. It's splashed into the water after them, ignoring the stepping stones and swimming strongly. "Look out!" Brambleclaw warned them, and the patrol took off.

All except for Hawkear, who was on a large, flat, wet stone, sprinting in place. "Nogripnogirpnogripnogripnogrip!!"

"Hawkear! More pad, less claw!"

She froze. "Oh." And tore after them. It took the patrol half as long to get across as it had to get halfway. "Land! Solid land!" Hawkear rejoiced momentarily as her paws met the bank and carried her onward.

An exhausted Mistyfoot carried herself to a hiding place, and bid the patrol good luck as they sped past her.

The four remaining cats were headed into the last stretch of land until the Twolegplace. They raced through the short burst of woodland just beyond the river, the crashing of the bear behind them seeming deafening in their ears, a sound surpassed only by the beating of their hearts.

As they burst into the open, it can be assumed that the bear tired of the game, for it suddenly sped up, tearing after the cats with the confidence that it would catch them. The frantic and tiring cats picked up the pace until they were flashing across the territory.

With already waning endurance and now a faster pace, Brambleclaw and Stormfur dropped out of the run. With a risky glance over one shoulder, Hawkear saw them emerge from their hiding places and following at a slow trot after she, Crowfeather, and the bear had passed, so that they could be nearby to help if there was an emergency.

Furlong after furlong passed, and each one seemed to grow longer and longer. At last (and yet actually very soon) Greenleaf Twolegplace was visible on the horizon. Having their destination in sight gave Hawkear a small boost of extra energy, although her limbs felt heavy and her paws felt numb.

"Crowfeather," she yowled breathlessly as the Twolegplace drew nearer, "Fall out."

"I'm not going to run away," he growled indignantly.

"If you go the whole length... you risk capture and discovery by Twolegs." The buildings were getting closer. "Let me finish the job... I know about Twolegs; if I get caught ...I'll be okay."

"You'll get killed—the bear will catch you!"

"I can do it, don't worry! Get outta here!"

Understanding that he could not win this argument, Crowfeather ducked into hiding as they circled a large copse including a few small trees. "Run, Hawkear, run!" he yowled after her.

The bear was quickly ganing, and coon it was right on Hawkear's heels. She hit the wood of the halfbridge (docks) and kept running, fighting the growing sense of numbness. They raced past the boat-rental building and onto the asphalt parking lot. The hard surface tore at Hawkear's claws and pads—but look! James was right there! And there was a big circus trailer pulling up behind him. She had made it. Just a little bit farther, and this would all be over.

...She hadn't expected her legs to stop working.

She tumbled to a halt, eyes fixed on the circus trailer, paws twitching as though she were still trying to run. She could hear the bear behind her. It had caught her. She was lost. She felt its teeth wrapping around her, understanding that it would pick her up and shake her like a dog would a toy. She was just a plaything. She squeezed her eyes shut, teeth gritted, ears flat against her skull as she was lifted into the air. A loud whistle pierced the air. She detachedly felt herself fall to the ground and the bear jump over her, and cracked an eye open to see it bounding toward James. He outstretched his arms to catch its massive paws as it reared up. The cat halfheartedly allowed the waltz, "_Dancing with the Bear"_ (from _Finding Neverland_) to enter his mind and give them something to dance to. He swung the creature around (or maybe it swung him) with the simple steps.

Some way into the song, a tall, dark, lanky, mustachio'd Italian-looking man approached with a leash and collar dangling from his grasp. Another man joined him with a needle. "No, no!" he protested (with a tidy British accent). "Porthos doesn't need that. He's well-enough trained." And ignoring the astonished look of his colleague, he hopped into step with James and the bear. "'Scuse me." He snapped the collar round Porthos's thick neck. He put a hand on Norrington's shoulder as a signal to stop, tugging on the leash a few times and saying, "Come home now, Porthos!" The bear obeyed, overjoyed at seeing his handler again and bounding into his embrace. "You silly animal, you had me worried sick. How can we ever thank you, Mr. Norr—?" he looked up to gratify James who...wasn't there.

He had walked off, cautiously approaching the limp form of Hawkear. Her sides were heaving as she greedily gulped in air. "Amy?" he murmured, kneeling beside her and cradling her in his arms. She was too exhausted to even correct him. A twitch of her tail tip was all she could manage.

"James," she finally meowed, unable to muster enough energy to enter his mind. "James, I need coltsfoot. Get me to Leafpool, James, help me," she pleaded breathlessly, knowing he could not understand what she was saying.

"You silly idiot," he rumbled in soft crossness, rising and carrying her to the only place he knew she could be helped to recover and calm down: the quarry. But it was such a long way away, and she wouldn't get the herbs she needed.

Stormfur and Brambleclaw were watching the outcome from their hiding place. "I think he's going to take her back to camp," the former guessed.

"It's too far away," argued the latter. "And Leafpool isn't there, anyway, she's—." An idea suddenly popped into his head. "She's at the RiverClan camp. Stormfur, why don't you lead Bearclaw to the riverside (far enough away from their camp) and I'll go get Leafpool and tell her what's going on?" They agreed.

The grey tom darted out, wove around the Twolegs, quickly convinced him to follow.

——————————

"Where is she?" Leafpool demanded, pushing through the ferns to the small clearing where Hawkear lay. James, sitting loyally by her side, looked up to meet her gaze, unconcerned but still disturbed. Hawkear was still gasping for breath, fighting the exhaustion that was trying to steal away her consciousness. "Coltsfoot, Juniper, and Thyme," the medicine cat prescribed promptly. "Brambleclaw, will you fetch some from Mothwing?"

"Sure thing." He darted into the undergrowth.

"Just stay awake a little bit longer, pet," James encouraged Hawkear, stroking her fur soothingly. He had literally overworked himself into the same state several times, and no single time was is a pleasant affair. He had even passed out a couple of times. There was some danger in it, but it wasn't fatal (at least not in this case).

The invalid was soon given the herbs—coltsfoot and juniper for shortness of breath, and thyme for frayed nerves—and quite promptly fell asleep. "Bearclaw," Leafpool meowed at the Twolegs, "will you carry her back to ThunderClan camp?" His brow creased in non-understanding. Resorting to more agreeable communication, she dragged his arm by the sleeve until his paw was nearly underneath Hawkear, and pointed her nose toward ThunderClan territory. However, though he followed her gaze, this only seemed to confuse him more.

"He can't understand, Leafpool," Brambleclaw pointed out. "Stormfur and I can carry her back."

"And drag her halfway around the lake? I think not. Bearclaw is our best chance."

"But how can we make a Twolegs underst—?" The question was disturbed as James gently picked up the slumbering feline and began to pick his way toward ThunderClan territory, leaving Brambleclaw to follow in a contentedly astonished silence.

At length, the exhausted Brambleclaw and Stormfur opted to rest at the WindClan camp (as would be permitted until the next day, so the Clan leaders had agreed), promising to be back by evening, and leaving Leafpool the only conscious cat with Bearclaw. Together, they slowly picked their way back to the quarry. Bearclaw gently set the sleeping bundle on the ground before the thorn tunnel for Leafpool to carry into the hollow, and with several glances back over his shoulder, strode off. Leafpool wasn't convinced he had left the territory.

She settled the rogue in a nest in the medicine den and returned to the clearing, stationing herself near the thorn tunnel to wait for Firestar and the patrols to return.

——————————

The sun was beginning to set. Everyone in the Clan had returned.

Leafpool padded along an edge of the hollow, out to hunt for more thyme and catmint. She came across Bearclaw, sitting with his back against the tree, arms and legs crossed and toes peeking over the cliff's edge. He was lost deep in thought, although he was not unaware of the medicine cat approaching him. "She'll be fine," she felt she had to assure him.

"I know. I'm not worried," he replied.

Wait for it.

Both snapped their gazes up to meet the other's, after a moment's silence, expressions mirroring mutual shock.

——————————

Hawkear slept deeply and soundly, dreaming much but remembering little. Often, she dreamed that James was a magnificent, handsomely maneless lion, with the most piercing green eyes, waiting for her to recover and return to his side. These dreams were powerful, and when she woke up she couldn't help but to think they must mean something important. However, the only conclusion she could come to was that he was really a part of the Clan now.

——————————

Two days of recovery followed the Dance with Porthos, during which Hawkear was treated royally, never having to get up for anything. Food was brought to her. Apprentices cleaned and changed her bedding. Leafpool, Stormfue, and Longtail were most often her companions, although she was visited by many others. However, her favorite times were those when the apprentices—and even Foxkit and Icekit—came to hear the story. It was usually told by Stormfur until the very end, which he left to the only cat who had been there to experience it firsthand.

In this time, James had returned to Horseplace and come back again, leaving only a note telling of his absence:

_To the Esteemed Horsewoman and Most Hospitable Madam, Miss Winnie Bradford,_

_Through a series of uncanny events which I am afraid I cannot relay to yourself, I have  
__regained all memory that was previously lost. Now, I must return to my home, family, and  
__profession._

_You have my gratitude for all your help, and I would I could stay longer to give you my  
__thanks in person. However, this letter will have to suffice._

_While I am fairly certain that we shall never have the pleasure of meeting again, I am  
__certainly glad to have met you, and you shall not easily be forgotten._

_Thank you so much for your grace and hospitality._

_Yours Truly,  
__A Grateful Mister James L. Norrington, Former Commodore of His Majesty's Royal Fleet.  
__  
Post Script: A recent need calls for an empty jar, and I hope that you do not take offense  
to my taking one of yours._

Right now, he and Hawkear were at the edge of ThunderClan territory, after having bid goodbye to the Clan, and escorted by Firestar. "Are you sure that you don't want to stay with us?" the ginger tom reconciled.

She nodded. _"I'm sure. My place lies elsewhere. I'll be back to visit once in a while, though. I promise."_

"Now now, don't go making _more_ promises," James scolded her.

"Than I don't feel so bad," said Firestar in reply to Hawkear. "Your help will not be forgotten, and your names honoured."

"_Your praises are too high,"_ she mewed shyly.

"I give it just the same. Farewell, Hawkear and Bearclaw. I look forward to meeting you both again."

Hawkear dipped her head before making a quick decision. "_Firestar, beware,"_ she warned. _"'An undercurrent of rage is rising against those who are not Clanborn and the warrior code is in danger of being washed away by a river of blood.'"_ Not giving him a chance to respond, she whisked away, Twolegs in tow, and trotted through WindClan territory. The pace was slow and easy. Within a few hours, they had made it to the fallen-tree bridge to the Island. While Hawkear was navigating the slick bark and branches, James had to wade and swim across the short channel. _"This is pretty sacred ground, man,"_ she informed him, "_so try not to leave and sign that you were here—well, and sign but one..."_ She led him to the great thorn bush and showed him the now transparent chrysalis, gold and black striping easily standing out. _"Jack?"_ she mewed hopefully.

After a few moments, the cocoon shivered and shook, and the butterfly emerged. It hung there for mere moments before its wings were uncannily dry, and it began to flutter around. Carefully, carefully, James closed a jar and lid around it. Self-confidence was caught.

Under Hawkear's suggestion, James took out a Swiss-army knife (which had conveniently replaced his sword) and carved into the woody base of the great thorn bush the shape of a butterfly, to mark it as the one that had sheltered their friend.

"Right," he said as he finished, wiping the splinters from his hands and shaking the thorns from his shirt as he rose. "Time to go, then?"

"'_Ih,'"_ she quoted Stitch, and he picked her up.

"Now don't go forgetting that you'll have to be human."

"_Huh? Mm—no worries._" She began to concentrate, and it suddenly felt like a very long time since she had used her magic. Purple mist began to swirl around them.

"Hawkear!" some cat yowled, shooting into the clearing from the tree bridge. It was Leafpool. "Hawkear, wait—I have something to tell you! Your friend—he isn't what you think!" But the smoke had already carried the two back to their Realm. Hawkear had only enough time to identify the cat before they faded from the clearing.

——————————

"That was cool," Hawkear commented, leaping up onto the table and scratching behind one war with a foot.

"Did I not just remind you?" James scolded, "You're human now."

"Oh." She straightened into a less contorted, more human position, hopping off the table and standing unsteadily on two legs. "Oh yeah." Upon regaining her balance, she noticed something jutting out of James's coat pocket. "What's that?"

He reached in and realized its presence surprisedly. "I do not know." He pulled it out—it was a book. "'_The Lost Chronicle,_'" he read. "'_The Lost Chronicle_ takes place between _The Sight_ and _Dark River_. When a bear threatens the safety of the forest, the Clans will have to rely on the help of a mysterious rogue who knows a little too much about...well, everything...'"

"Written by Erin Hunter," she read over his arm. "This is our story from the Clan cats' point of view. It prob'ly even tells about how the Twolegs get rid of the badger problem and all those traps. Dude! We're canon!" she cried excitedly.

James's expression gravened. "That may not be such a good thing."

* * *

All righty then, 30.5 pages in my journal. I originally expected this to be more like 20-25 pages, but hey, my pencil got away from me. (Eighteen pages typed.) 

Chapter Twenty has a start, and I only wish I had as much juice for Fears Unknown as I do for this. Hoping to update within a month. Leave me plenty of reviews to come back to when I return from West Philadelphia:D

CMS


	20. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Hey all. I actually had this chapter done within a week of the last one, but refrained from posting it to work on the next chapter so as the wait wouldn't be quite so long. Oh well. Writer's block, school projects, PSATs and marching band have inhibited my progress. Blech. And by the way, I'm really beginning to dislike Tavington.

Reviews! Only six? To those who have reviewed, I am grateful, but what happened to everyone else? Tomorrow's my birthday, you know. Lots of reviews make MeraSparrow happeh!

**Inwë: **Is it in-WEE' or IN'-way? I was never sure. I hope you are by now feeling better, after the better part of a month, and hope to see another chapter out soon.

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Under any other circumstances, I would not have named James Bearclaw, either, but I supposed an honourary name should reflect the deed which earned the honour in the first place. If that makes any sense at all. Thanks for the review, and P.S. I'm beginning to dislike eleventh grade. Pheh.

**Authoressinhiding:** I know I haven't been reading, and I very honestly aim to first chance I get. I'm pressed for time as it is just posting right now. November 11th is my last band competition, and then my after-school hours and weekends will be free for the reading. Now where's me rum? ...

**ArmoredSoul:** I am afraid that you will have to wait to find out. ...Although there have been details hinting at the answer throughout the story...

**Stormwake:** Unfortunately, dear reader, the crossover is in fact finished (although I eagerly await the next installment of the series.) I'm glad to know that you enjoy it so much, though, and I'm grateful for your review.

**Destinysway114:** Ha. I know it was really long and you didn't have much time to read, so thanks for making the time. How are things going with your story? I'd like to see the progress you must be making.

**Disclaimer** You'd be surprised how unpopular this all would be if I actually owned it.

**Chapter Twenty (twenty?! Jimminy Christmas!): Fear and Loathing in Tortuga**

"Amy, I can't say I _want _to go _anywhere_ other than onto a ship and out to sea," James was reasoning with his young relative. "My fervency to visit any realms other than my _own_ for once is waning."

"Oh. Well why didn't you just say that in the first place? We could do with some sailing—I'm surprised Jack's crew have stuck around for this long! It's been a few months."

"The portion of reward money from Lusee that Sparrow gave them was substantial enough to sustain them most of this time."

"Come to think of it, I haven't even _seen _Mr. Gibbs yet—you would think I'd have gone and said 'hi', but I haven't."

"You would also think that a pirate crew would have left for a town with more bars and brothels, but they haven't either."

"More bars?"

"Oh no," James facepalmed.

"You know what _else_ I haven't done?"

"Don't say it..."

"I've never been to Tortuga."

He winced. "You just said it."

"We should go."

He had to put his foot down and draw the line somewhere. "No. Absolutely not."

"But why?"

"Tortuga is no place for you. It's a lot uglier than Jack's fond memories describe it. And the number of drunken, lusting sailors makes it a dangerous place for a young woman like yourself."

"The crew needs to stay happy, and in order for that to happen, they need to get back to what they do best."

"It is not up to me, and _especially_ not up to you to lead them back into piracy. And I'm sure Jack would not be too happy that the _Pearl_ was taken abroad in his absence."

"Exactly. Which is why I conjure a turtle-ship or a galley or something, let them sail under Gibbs and have some fun there, and then mysteriously sink it in the night once they're all back here."

"We're still not going to Tortuga," he replied firmly.

"We? It started out as _me._ What's up with you? Never been?"

"Oh I've been, all right. Often at one point. And I do not think the barkeep was very fond of me by the time I left."

Thinking he had attempted to close the bar on a Commodorely basis, she did not think much of this statement. "Is the barkeep your only problem?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

"It's that whole blasted port," he snapped. "Every bloody rock, broken bottle, and grain of sand—there is _nothing_ about it worth visiting. It lures the unsuspecting to paradise and then chains them there in their own prison." Not thinking on the last statement, she gave him her best kicked-puppy face. "No. Oh no, not the face..." He turned away, but even then she only made her eyes bigger and browner in his mind and peripheral vision. "No. You are _not_ getting me to go to Tortuga."

————————————

"I _cannot_ believe you got me to go to Tortuga," James grumbled sourly, looking at the island on the horizon through his spyglass. The lass stood beside him on the reddy-brown deck of the two-masted schooner, aptly named the _Sunrise_, and chuckled, crossing her arms behind her head.

"What can I say? I'm a convincing person." After reading and re-reading several books on ships, she had successfully managed to conjure this ship. (She had also finally been able to make a copy of the time-turner, so that she could spend more time studying with Teacher and still have plenty of time for school.)

The unique sails flapped and billowed in the zephyrs—unique in their colour, shading from a deep, bright red at the tops to an orangy, shining gold at the bottoms, illustrating with the ship's name the 'red in the morning sailor's warning' part of the proverb.

It felt great to be on a ship again, after so long, although Ames had been forced to make her ship ride the waves much less smoothly than the _Pearl_, so that the crew would prefer sailing on Jack's ship to this.

They floated into port, dropped anchor, and after Gibbs had set up the watches, all going ashone disembarked.

Amy wandered the dusty streets, admiring the old buildings and comparing them to the concrete jungles she was used to. It was a remarkably clean town, for all the abuse it received in its nightly hours. To spend their daily hours, she suggested that they check out the local library—being as eager as she was to explore the literature of the time and the Realm. James, being equally _not_ eager to be in town, agreed in a heartbeat. As it were, there were many interesting volumes, and at length, Amy shrank one to the size of a deck of cards and stuffed it into her boot. It was the first thing she'd ever stolen (aside from a piece of gold from her church, but then she had only wanted to examine it, and had returned it unnoticed), although the complete silence and certainty that not another soul was in the building besides James, who was out of view of her anyway (for surely he would not have condoned it) did not make it a difficult task in the slightest. She concluded that, when conditions were right, she could find pleasure in pursuing Jack's profession, although she had a feeling that she probably wouldn't go after it anyway.

Night fell quickly, Tortuga brightly aglow with lanterns. Amy wandered through streets that were now soaked with rum (and some with blood), the forms of men already passed out beginning to litter the gutters. The yells and shouts of a brawl at one bar mingled with the loud, energetic music from another. Once again, pirates had the governor tied up in the well, demanding to know where the town's treasury was, and lowering him underwater when he refused to tell them. Ames wondered how often this happened to him, and how he had survived thus far. Perfume and rum perforated the air, and she breathed deep the proliferous bouquet that was Tortuga.

She swung open the doors of The Faithful Bride tavern and paused to take it in, a small fight that had been going on nearby quieted and stared as she entered. One man exchanged expressions with the man he was trying to strangle, and both grinned, releasing one another to advance on her threateningly, joined by others in their gang. She fixed them with one of her most disconcerting glares, a hand going defensively to the hilt of her cutlass. They froze in their tracks, miming fear, and she fancied she had successfully disheartened them, only to roll her eyes immediately after said passing fancy as they laughed and mocked her. She went far enough as to draw her blade, and was very near putting it threateningly to the nearest throat. She herd the door creak open and closed behind her, and the gangsters' faces turned to real fear. She smiled to herself and sheathed her sword as they retreated.

She turned to face James, who was looking down his nose at her, arms crossed, fixing her with the same intimidating expression he'd given the drunks. Her cheer fled, and she almost felt as though she should run away too. "Er...how was that for my first stare-down?" she asked innocently.

"Considering that I had to come to your rescue, I should say terrible," he sniffed with a frown. "Although I can see that you have some semblance of what you should be doing. Your posture has as much to do with it as your expression. You want your shoulders squared, but don't puff your chest out. Move with ease, rather than stiffly as some are apt to do. And stop jutting your chin out in the air. It might gain you respect in some social party, but it will only hasten your pace to mockery and a dreadful fate in a place like this. That's right. Now, don't worry about looking angry or threatening—that wouldn't work for someone of your small stature."

A muscle tightened in Amy's jaw. Did _everyone_ have to mention her size? Her major growth spurt had been three inches in the fourth grade. Now, she was five two-and-a-half and basically finished growing at the age of fifteen. "Then how am I supposed to look?"

"Alert. As though you are ready for anything—but calm. Calm and alert."

"Calm, cool, and collected. Got it. How's for walking?"

Norry sighed. This was where she had to be less of a girl, and telling her so was something he did not want to do. "Absolutely no sway of the hips, if you can help it. No shuffling, but don't act like you're in a rush, either. Don't mess with your hair unless it is necessary, and _please_ try not to do that look you always give me from under your eyelashes."

She blinked and tipped her head to one side. "Why?"

"It may be seen as...er, well, a man might think you..." he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

Amy laughed. "Naw, don't worry about it—I knew what you meant before you said anything."

He hastily went on, hoping not to linger on his moment of discomfort. "Keep a hand on your hilt—just let it relax there; you only want it to draw attention to the fact that you are carrying a weapon. And don't go putting your hand on your hip as you tend to do."

"Okay." She started off, and James caught her by the shoulder and brought her back to him.

"And when you get to the bar, make direct eye contact with whomever you are talking to."

"James—."

"And don't go sticking your rump out if you lean on the bar."

"I wouldn't do that any—."

"And try not to wag like you have a tail. Save it for another realm."

"Big brother instinct too much!" she finally cried. Her eyebrows raised at him with a 'yeah' look. "Jeez, boy, I have _some_ common sense, you know. I'm a generally calm person, and I'm really not all that girly. I'm _just_ getting a rum. I'll be fine."

He took a deep breath, still uneasy at her being here. "Fine."

"Listen, I'll keep the brainwaves open if you need anything or if you think _I _need anything. But seriously—I'm more competent than you give me credit."

"All right." He leaned against a wall, crossing his arms and taking up the intimidating stance of a slightly tipsy pirate who would not want to be bothered.

She watched him for a moment before taking up her posture and making her way toward the bar. She agilely sidestepped a small fight that had broken out, nodded to Gibbs as she passed his table—he raised his mug to her in acknowledgment—and managed to maneuver her way through the drunken crowd to the bar without losing her composure. However, even the lack of danger she felt did not diminish the nervousness swelling in her breast. But her countenance remained composed. James, watching her from his shadowy corner, observed her level of alertness—nothing went unnoticed—she was smart enough to use all her senses for help: If a person pushed another, or if a drunk tripped on his clumsy feet, and she was in the way, even if her back was to them, she knew he was there and could anticipate where he would end up, always managing to elude that pending accident.

She leaned her hands nonchalantly on the grimy bar, meeting the gaze of the grizzly barkeep. "Rum," she ordered, pushing a penny his way. He gave her an odd look, but her confidence convinced him she wasn't kidding around.

"Ain't yehs a bit young fer a place loyk this, li'l gurl?"

"Half a mug. Come on, now." Muttering to himself, the bar tender swiped up the coin and retreated to get her drink. She tipped him another penny, lifting her mug to him and taking a small sip. Upon deeming its flavour was praisable, she made her way back to her nephew. "Well?" she asked with another sip.

He shrugged, unfriendly countenance not wavering with conversation. No one else came after you, so I suppose that was well-executed." She smiled casually, leaning beside him against the wall and taking another sip of rum. "Don't go drinking too much of that. I don't want to have to deal with a hung over teenager tomorrow."

She chuckled. "You didn't honestly think I'd drink a whole half a tankard, did you? It's good, yeah, but I'm not _that_ stupid. I'll stop after a while—you want the rest, then?"

He shook his head. "I haven't touched liquor in years. I hardly even have wine at a gathering, if I can help it."

"What—did something happen?" She had a feeling that bad memories were about to be unearthed and braced herself.

"I don't like what it does to me." He had wanted to end the conversation there, but her enquiring expression and knowing eyes propelled him onward. "I—it... The last time I had rum, it felt like every bad feeling I could feel about any given thing, even if only slightly—or perhaps even without my acknowledgment—all the bitterness, all the anger and misery in the world was burning inside of me, and _I_ had to take it out on anyone and everyone in my path."

From her hollow gaze and lack of eye contact, he could see that she had withdrawn into her mind and was trying to block out the cheer of the tavern to imagine he had been going through. "...Oh..."

"So I've hardly touched alcohol of any sort since then."

She looked up at him thoughtfully, took one last swig of her drink, and then turned her tankard upside down, allowing its remaining contents to fall to the floor. "...Much to the dismay of Jack," she smiled faintly. James returned the expression. "Now, let's find a place to get some cheese."

"Cheese?" his eyebrows drew together. "Why cheese?"

"Because I'm going into cheese withdrawal and I need my fix. Come on." With a sigh, he followed her out, rolling his eyes at Gibbs, who had noticed their exit.

Gibbs smiled and raised his tankard to the man, chuckling, "A woman is always in charge—especially when yer related to her."

————————————

They had successfully procured their cheese, and were now munching as they strolled along the border between town and beach, chatting about this and that—stupid things, things that didn't really matter. There was an air of cheerfulness about them, as though nothing could go wrong.

After wiping the grease and crumbs from their hands, they climbed down a wooden embankment to continue their stroll in the surf. The tide was coming in, and they were able to wet their boots only a few yards away from said barrier. In many places, thickets and grasses—even a tree or two—grew out from between the logs and planks, creating black shadows in the moonlight. The more and more of such places they passed, the more afraid of them Amy was becoming. She couldn't understand why she was feeling this way. Common sense soon calmed her, although every instinct was telling her to run or hide.

"James," she finally said, clutching his arm in her fright. "I'm scared."

He paused mid-stride, surprised: This was the first time he had seen her afraid—she who seemed to fear nothing. "What of, pet?"

"I don't know." Hmmm. Maybe she _was_ afraid of nothing. "It's just this feeling—like there's something waiting there to get us."

"And you think it's waiting for us specifically."

"Could be. And it might have friends."

"So you think that there is something, or perhaps more than one something, lurking in the shadows and waiting to attack us?" James sighed. "Amy, you are a _pioneer_ of paranoia."

His confidence reassured her, and she eventually suppressed the fear. Their stroll (quite a long stroll, really) continued so far before they doubled back and followed the same path back. (They would have been following their own footprints had the surf not filled them with sand.) With the passing of time and cheerful conversation had her fear disappeared. And now, as they approached that same place, she pushed that fear to the back of her mind and plodded placidly beside her escort.

However, their roles had switched. As they drew nearer and nearer to a large copse growing out of the barrier, apprehension began to beat faster in James's chest, although his countenance did not betray that feeling. Thus, as the couple were passing said copse, he suddenly stopped and pushed her protectively behind him, senses alert. "Awah?"

"Shh. I heard something."

"Could be a squirrel," she suggested.

"No, it was bigger than that. Something is watching us."

"_Now_ who'd being paranoid?"

He turned around, grasping her shoulders irritatedly. "I know what I heard, and I've experience enough to tell its size. Now shush." He turned back around to analyze the situation. After much consideration, he said, "It would be much better for us to face it than to risk running and having it come after us. Stay behind me."

They crept in near silence toward that fearful place, boots hardly making a sound over the sand. The light of the full moon set their path in a silver twilit glow, and though it was bright, it only served to deepen the shadows in the place where they needed to see most. Slowly, cautiously, they approached the copse. They passes back and forth along its parameter, never daring to set foot inside. At one spot, something moved as they passed, setting fronds and leaves quivering. "Who's there? Come out at once." Nothing happened. "Give us some light, Amy." She snapped her fingers and a small ball of light appeared, floating several inches above her palm. Its light caught the movement of something attempting to recoil into the shadows.

"It's a man," she realized. James drew his sword.

"Then put that light out. Quickly!—Do you want to be tried at the stake again?" he hissed. She gave him a meek expression and allowed the bobbing light to become a normal, flickering lantern. Norrington proceeded to call out to the hiding soul. "Show yourself. There is no use hiding now that we know you are in there. Come out of we'll set the place ablaze." Nothing. "And if it takes you more than the count of ten," he drew his pistol, "I will shoot when you show yourself. One." There was a great commotion in the bushes. "Two." The noise grew louder as the man struggled toward the open world. "Three. Ten." A form exploded from the copse, falling at the former Commodore's boots and pleading frantically for his life. "Why were you hiding in there?" James demanded.

"I-I was hiding, s-s-sir," the fearful form stammered.

James facepalmed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, but _why?_"

The man sat back up on his knees, and they could see his face. His clothing was torn and tattered. His hair, where it should have been long and dreadlocked, was short and stringy, eyebrows and moustache frazzled, beard unexplainably absent. His eyes were wild with fear and sunken into his face a little, with bags beneath them. Tremors of barely-controlled panic shook his countenance. "I-I w-w-was a-afraid." It was Jack.

With what can only be described as half laugh-half sob, Amy threw herself at him, arms wrapping about his neck. "You're back, you're back! We were so worried about you." However, at her touch Jack struggled out of reach, stumbling back and looking at her like she was some monster. "J...Jack? What's wrong?"

"Amy, I do not think that is Jack," said James, brows knit together, sheathing his sword and replacing his pistol. "Pardon out hastiness. Will you give us the liberty of asking your name?"

"No. Y-you frighten m-me," not-Jack mumbled.

Ames and James exchanged excitedly shocked expressions. "Fear!" they chorused. Another emotion!

However, their excitement served only to frighten Fear more, and he bolted. "Wait!" the lass cried after him. "We want to help you!" But he was not coming back. "Just great," she turned to her companion. "Now we have to find Fear in Tortuga."

"I'm afraid that is a feat which rivals the existence of a cursed Aztec treasure in probability." They looked back at the town, aglow and crowded, the first rays of sunrise streaking the sky. It would be a _long_ search.

* * *

Right. That's the end of that. Chapter 21 fast approaching, and hopefully a little something for Fears Unknown (although there are no promises here, people). My birthday tomorrow; leave me lots of presents. XD

CMS


	21. Of Fear's Trust

Hey, all! Woot, last week was marching band State Championships, and we placed fourth! WOOOOOO! And wouldn't you know it; the season still isn't over. I'm playing a football game on Thanksgiving, of all days! And TWO count 'em TWO pep rallies on Wednesday at school. Oh well, at least I don't have to take that physics test for a while...

Whatwhatwhat? Seven reviews. Thank you!

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Sorry, mate, it was indeed only a witty chapter title. Loathing comes later—I mean OHNOSPOILERS! -sweatdrop- Oh yeah, thanks for the gift-wrapped James. I was reading that while watching Cesar Milan with my mom, and I just started laughing so much. She looked at me funny, and when I told her what you said, she laughed too. Lol. -huggles James- BESTEST BIRFDAY PWESENT EVAH!

**Merry:** Well, you saw up there. After Thanksgiving break is over, I _should_ have more time to catch up on the stories. Wee! Thanks for all the gifts! They were delishush.

**ArmoredSoul:** Good! Then my work here is done.

**Inwë:** Thanks. I never actually knew how to say it, and now I do. Woot. And perhaps, if you want a name that people can pronounce the first time through, just write it phœnetically.

**Stormwake: **I thought that's what it would be like. That's why I cut the crossovers for a while. Everyone—including me!—seems to be missing the Pirates realm. Thanks.

**EvilChibiHikari:** Mine too! It's amazing how many people seem to like that series, and how many people who already share my PotC interest share my Warriors one as well.

**Captain Rika Kisuktai:** New Reader! WEEHOO! -runs around in circles- All right. You have gotten the new reader dance. Thank you so much for the lovely review. Amazing? Well, I don't know about that... But thank you anyway! Shall I hope for more reviews in the future:D

**Disclaimer** Mekkyon! Mokona goes Mekkyon whenever there is something being borrowed by that person who doesn't own it. Mekkyon!

**Chapter Twenty-One: Of Fear's Trust**

They chased after the quickly shrinking form. They would soon lose him in Tortuga if he got too far ahead of them, and then finding him again would be nearly impossible.

James wove through the drunken masses, Amy following hard on his heels, present in his mind so that she always knew where he was and would be able to find him if they got separated. They ducked in and out of taverns, dodging through the numerous barfights and navigating their way to secret or emergency exits where a wave of a sash or the blur of an arm passing out of sight was all they had to guide them.

Perhaps the third or fourth bar of the chase, they found themselves in The Faithful Bride. Instead of immediately exiting as he had from earlier buildings, fear was now searching for a hiding place. "Why's he come here?" Amy asked her nephew as a brawl forced them against a yellowed, cracked wall.

"It's familiar," he replied distractedly, struggling to keep his eyes on the unfamiliarly familiar form over the flailing fists and limbs of the brawl. "Up the steps! Move!" They shoved their way through the crowd, climbing the rum-soaked flight as quickly as the space would allow them, hurtling over collapsed drunks, slipping on spilt drinks and bottles.

"Oh!" the lass exclaimed, ducking down. James, behind her, followed suit, barely evading an airborne bottle which exploded against the wall where their heads had just been. He rose above the railing with an unimpressed expression, the girl standing up beside him and examining a brown tricorn with a large maroon plume. She placed it on her head (much to her companion's disgust) and was pleased when she found it fit. She felt James' glare and did a double-take to face him. "What?" He stood a moment, staring at her with a frown before cuffing her over the head and pointing up the stairs. "Whoa!" she took off again. And all this in the space of but a moment or two.

They shoved their way through the brawling scallywags on the upper level, chasing after the elusive form that embodied the very emotion of fear. "Hurry!" James grabbed her by the arm, hauling her up to his pace as they headed toward a room at the back of the second level. They reached it just as an arm pulled the door closed, barely stopping in time to avoid smacking into it.

Ames tried the knob, bouncing and shaking it frustratedly. "Locked." She turned to James, stepping aside. "Would you do the honours?"

"Of course, Madam," he said pleasantly with a bow. He rose again with a much more dangerous expression, and hardly considered the door for half a moment before winding up and delivering a fatal kick. The door exploded from its hinges, splinters raining down.

"Nice work, James." They raced into the room.

Empty.

"Search the wardrobe and under the bed," Norrington ordered. "He could be anywhere, and fear compels a person to take dangerous risks."

She noticed something before she could begin to search. "The window," she pointed. It was open, stained curtains blowing in the breeze. They rushed over and leaned out. There was Fear, hastily climbing down the side of the building. He glanced up, and with a panicked gasp, saw them. Taking a risk as dangerous as James had just mentioned, he dropped the last fifteen feet—much to Amy's dismay—and hit the ground with a somersault. He sat for a moment dazed, before shaking off the fall, and set off again.

With a wave of Amy's hand, the broken door rose into the air and sped out the window. She jumped out after it, pulling James with her, and landed soundly on its wood as it quickly descended. However, James was not the lightest of men, nor was Amy the strongest of girls—James was off-balance, and unable to find footing, fell from the window, plummeting head-first toward the earth. "James!!" she cried, a hand stretching out after him. Miraculously, he twisted in the air and landed steadily on his feet, almost immediately tearing after Fear, who was only fifty meters ahead. Amy chased after them, down the clear, dusty street. With a deep breath, she summoned more speed out of herself and soon caught up.

"Glad you could join us, dear," James called sarcastically.

"How did you manage that landing?" she demanded.

"What? This is no time for—."

"Anyone else might have gotten hurt, a fall like that. How were you able to land so easily?"

"I—." He slowed his pace in thought. "I don't know. I've landed on my feet for as long as I can remember. I don't know why."

She gestured toward Fear, satisfied with his answer, nudging their minds and their feet after their prey once more. Building after building passed them by, and now the figure fleeing ahead of them was no longer darting into any of them. He turned down an alley, the couple following suit. When the narrow passage ended in a small plaza, he paused a moment as if to think, then hurtled down an even narrower alley branching off. It was between the back of a three-storey building and a very high wall that probably was supposed to guard the governor's property (and a lot of good it did. xp). The roof of the house cast the alley into black shadows. "Where do you think he's going?"

"To the jungle, where we'll have no chance of finding him."

They looked down the dark, tight passageway, invisible broken wagons and beams littering the ground. "The question is; can we find him in _this?_" An acrid tang bit at her nose. "Wait, wait—I can smell fear-scent."

James double-took, expression perplexed. "Come again?"

"I remember it from the Warriors Realm—every cat could smell the fear coming off the cats that had been chased by Porthos. I guess the strongest fear-scent—the one that even a human can smell—must be fear incarnate."

"Well don't just stand there driveling on about it—follow the trail!"

"Oh yeah—this way!" and she took off into the darkness (and after tripping over a piece of rubbish, opted to take a slower pace.)

James squeezed in behind her, his shoulders mere inches from either side of the alley. Apprehension was creeping up his spine as they moved swiftly—sometimes climbing—and he assumed that it was the effect that being so near to Fear caused. But when he heard Amy cry out in surprise, just before reaching the sunny light at the end of the passage, he knew it had been a warning from his intuition. He would have drawn his sword, were there room enough to do so. He would have fired his pistol had he been sure of his target. And he would have run in and tackled their adversaries into the light were there not the possibility of facing a sword in his gut (not a pleasant experience.) But luckily, he had an invaluable advantage. _"How many are there?"_

"_Two, and they've got a hold of me—one on either side, and me in the middle."_

"_Weapons?"_

"_Swords and pistols, but none drawn. They probably think me helpless."_

Satisfied with their obliviousness, he rushed forward, taking hold of the middle form which he now knew was Amy, shouldering the two thieves into the walls, and burst into the sunlight. The two instantly turned, swords drawn, to face the pirates advancing on them (rather than run and risk a shot in the back.) "Well well! If it isn't the _Admiral_," one sneered mockingly. "Haven't seen him in ages."

"Thought he was dead," his partner added.

"Do they know you?" Amy enquired.

"I'm afraid you both were gravely mistaken."

The lass winced. "Ooo, bad pun."

"Does he want to play?" pirate one growled.

"Shall he dig his grave?" the other continued.

Both pirates finished, "Let's find out!" and leapt at James and the girl.

Norrington shoved his aunt behind him and easily parried their attacks, although taking on both adversaries would be a difficult task. "Amy, go after Jack."

"But—"

"That's an _order_."

"I can't run as fast as you."

"You also cannot fight as well as me—now go!" He would not be swayed. Assuring herself that they would meet up again later, she thrust her cutlass into his grasp and raced away.

She sprinted after Fear, but it was a losing race, and the distance between them was growing and growing. She finally came to a stop due to her lack of endurance, doubled over, with hands braced against her knees, puffing for breath and watching the shrinking form, crying, "'Curse these genetically stubby legs!'" ... Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and she turned her head to see a horse hitched to a cart outside a dusty, stuccoed nondescript building. She stared at it for a moment, then looked back at Fear, before bowing her head to catch her breath.

An idea came to her and, checking to make sure her quarry was still in sight, she raced to unhitch the gelding, vaulted onto his back, and kicked him into a gallop—thankfully, he was wearing a bridle! They breezed after Fear, the wind blowing her hair and whipping her steed's mane in her face. She had to reach up and pull her new hat down more securely onto her head to keep it from plowing away.

The gap between Ames and Fear was rapidly diminishing—but so was the distance between Fear and the jungle! She urged her mount faster and faster to catch up, the horse's hoof beats drumming in time with the intense chase music playing in her head. They were mere feet behind him when he crashed into the jungle. Her horse leapt over the bushes and thundered after the form as it disappeared into the trees, but alas, they soon lost him to the green. She pulled her mount to a stop, dismounting to analyze the situation. She could still smell the fear-scent, but as a human nose is not meant for tracking, she couldn't pinpoint Fear. Taking a deep breath and laying a calming hand on the gelding's neck, she closed her eyes in concentration and prayed against disaster as the equine shrank and transformed. In a matter of moments, a fox hound stood in the place of her rugged, dapple-gray steed, bridle and reins now a leather collar and leash. Ames entered the confusion of its mind, calmed it and communicated to it to follow the smell of Fear.

It obediently put its nose to the ground, almost at once finding the scent, and took off, leading his human after their quarry. He pulled at the leash and, unable to keep up, she transmuted some stoned and wood into a very large-wheeled rough-terrain skateboard—not that she knew anything about skateboarding; even with the help of her magic, she contrived to collide with several trees and be pulled straight off the board by the dog. They sped through the jungle, gaining on Fear , as could be inferred by the dog's growing excitement.

It was nearly half an hour into the chase when Ames realized they had gone in a circle. Fear was being creative and trying to use his own very obvious scent to throw them off his trail. Pulling the dog to a stop—and unsuccessfully trying to stop the skateboard and falling off—"Ow! Dangit!"—she evaluated the situation. How far away could he be? What kind of place would he hide in? _Hmm,_ she thought to herself. _If I were afraid of __**everything**__ and was being pursued by a dog, I would A: run around in circles, B: roll in some wild garlic or other smelly plants to confuse my scent, C: find a river and cross it with the hopes that my pursuer would lose my scent, or D: all of the above. Well, that settles it. Puppy, it's time to sniff for garlic._

Sure enough, there were several stinky herbs nearby, and upon locating the only scent that had _moved_, they set off after it.

The jungle eventually gave way to a wide river. The dog still had the scent, and Amy, though she did not doubt his ability to swim, did in fact doubt her own, and therefore designed to allow the hound to grow to the size of a medium-sized pony, vaulted into its back (which was much more awkward that a horse) and rode it as it paddled strongly across the river. However, once its paws touched solid land and it began to sniff again, it was unable to pick up the scent. They would have to search up and down the bank to find it again.

But he was close. So close. A disconcerted feeling had settled over her shoulders. She struggled to control that feeling so that the dog would not perceive her momentary weakness. She guided her canine mount after that emotion, and as the feeling grew stronger, the dog once again found the scent, and they were off.

The giant foxhound bounded through the trees, jumping over bushes ducking under branches, loyally mindful of its rider. They were getting closer and closer: she could feel it. The dog slowed down as the trees gave way to a small clearing. There was a rocky hill at the other side, and set into its side was a dark, shadowed cave. It would have been impossible to get to had she not been riding a giant dog: the glade was surrounded by a thick barrier of thorns, brambles, and burrs. She dismounted as the dog took off again, and it sat at the cave's entrance and howled. Praising him and shrinking him back down to size, she picked up his leash and allowed him to lead her into the cave, trying to move as silently as possible to that Fear would not hear them and move deeper into the cave.

As shadows and darkness and the unknown surrounded her, she felt her heart begin to beat faster with apprehension. Was something going to happen? Or was this feeling only caused by her proximity to fear-incarnate? She couldn't tell, and it frustrated her; For the first time, she couldn't trust her gut. There was a torch in a socket on the wall, an unloaded pistol hanging beside it. She took both and used the flintlock to ignite the torch and light their way.

Some distance into the passage, a shape appeared, just outside the flickering light of the torch. She swung around to see, and dropped the light with a shriek. Glowing eerily in the light of the flame was a skeleton, chained to the wall by its wrists, wisps of hair and old clothing still clinging to the bones. Having also dropped the leach, the dog was sniffing furiously at it. _Fear would have been afraid of this, too, wouldn't he?_ she wondered. _So he can't have come this way._ So then where would he be? His scent had led them here. Truly a baffling dilemma. "Come on, puppy, he must have gone somewhere else." The dog gave no sign that he had heard her, still fixated on the bones."Get away from that thing—hey—come on." Too afraid of the skeleton to approach and lead the canine away, she resorted to entering its mind. What she encountered were memories of small, off-white statuettes. _Ivory?_ 'Puppy' was associating the smell of the bones with the smell of ivory. Three thoughts passed through her mind just then. The first was in despair of how many elephants must have died to make this frightful marker. The second was that the dog, as a horse, must have carted ivory items, for it to be familiar with the scent. And the third, and perhaps most important thought was that Fear must have known it was fake and gone on deeper into the caves. Carefully picking up the torch and retrieving the dog's leash, they headed deeper in.

The passage soon narrowed until it was little more than a cleft between boulders, and this led on for a while. Amy would have begun to feel claustrophobic had she not been confident that an open space awaited them. Several signs had alerted her to this: one was the slight zephyr of fresh air blowing from their destination. Another was the echoing: with ever movement they made, no matter how silent in the open, there was an echo—footsteps, claws clicking on the stone, Amy's heavy breaths, still irregular as she recovered from the initial chase. And then... "Shiny?" A small glinting thing had reflected the light. She leaned down to examine it. It was a tiny golden nugget, about the size of a match head. She pocketed it—might fetch her a nice...er..._something_ or other at the market. Like a sea bag. _Or a monkey_, she thought with amusement before the impatient canine pulled her onward.

They soon came upon another nugget , this time more of a flake, like a book of mica. After that, flecks of gold dust grew more and more abundant, until the ground on which they walked was glittering and sparkling in the dancing torch light. Ames thought it might have been an old gold mine or something. And then, like that, the close and brightly lit walls fell away to reveal a gargantuan cavern, filled with a darkness that her torch did little to permeate. Something was glinting beyond the reaches of the light, and she dared not approach it for fear of booby traps. Her hand met the wall as she paused to control her fear—the manifestation must be in here—and it smacked against something jutting out from the stone. It was a tray, and it stretched off into the darkness, giving the impression that it wound around the whole 'room.' Her fingers, where they had dipped into the tray, were covered with a black substance, which she raised to her nose and verified as; "Black powder." Acting on a whim—and praying that the cave wouldn't implode—she dipped the torch into the tray. The gunpowder ignited, and flames sped down the tray and around the room, giving light th what had only been a glimmer in the shadows before, and now dazzled her eyes and hitched her breath.

A massive stock of loot was piled in the center of the cavern, taking up much of its floor space, some piles reaching above Amy's head. Near the entrance she had come through was carved into the floor these words:

_**Here lies the Treasure  
**__**in bulk of one **__**Captain**__** Jack  
**__**Sparrow. If ye have been  
**__**clever enough to find it, partake  
**__**of it as you Wish, with no Fears  
**__**of being pursued.  
**__**Just leave a Wee bit for me,  
**__**Savvy?**_

"So that's why Fear came here. This must be a pretty safe-feeling place for Jack to hide his treasure here," she announced to the fox hound. However, instead of continuing her search, Ames strolled through the hills of treasure (though responsibly leaving the dog to guard the entrance.) It all seemed very familiar, really. She realized with a jolt that much of it was the treasure of the Isla de Muerta. She recalled a scene from the upcoming _Dead Man's Chest_ that had leaked onto the internet mere _days_ before, where Mr. Gibbs had alluded to the cursed island "gone pear-shaped, and the treasure with it." Jack must have shipped the treasure from Isla de Muerta to here and used the sinking of the island as a cover, all with his crew unawares. "Jack, you are an evil man!" she cried, her voice ricocheting off walls and back around her. He had cheated his crew of the riches they had worked so hard to acquire. She listened to the echoes of her voice, which mixed with one another, distorting her words to say "evil woman" back at her. She sighed. "You're right. I prob'ly woulda done the same thing." A necklace caught her eye, which she picked up and examined; an intricately plowing and weaving of gold wisps on a black-gold chain. "Well, you said to take what you wanted," she reasoned, clipping it around her neck. "Besides, if it ends up being _that_ important to you, then I can always give it back.

A warning bark alerted her to Fear's presence. She whirled around to see Fear cowering against one of the piles of gold near the cave's entrance. He had tried to sneak out unnoticed, and had met the dog instead. The hound was advancing on him, teeth bared in a snarl. "Call 'im off!" Fear cried. "P-please! Call him off!"

"Will you run away if I do?" The manifestation made no response, continuing to whimper and guard his face with his arms. She stood beside the dog, a fist on her hip. "If you do, I shall set him after you."

"N-no! I won't run."

Ames dropped her imposing countenance victoriously. "Pup–belay that." The dog returned to calm-submissive, and he looked up at her, tail wagging. "Good boy," she praised him, giving him a pat on the head.

Fear's trembling began to subside, and he peeked out at them from behind his arms before lowering them. "Y-you're not one of the b-bad men."

"We're not here to hurt you," she assured him, squatting down to his level. She suddenly comprehended his words. "Bad men? What do you mean?"

"B-black suits and m-masks. N-no eyes, no m-mouths. No faces."

"Those are the men who kidnaped Jack," she realized aloud. "You saw them?" The intensity of her voice disconcerted Fear, and she struggled to calm herself. "What did they do?"

"Th-they came after me. Tried t-t-to catch m-me."

"I wonder why that is." Keeping the dog behind her, she reached out a hand. He stared at it fearfully. "I am not associated with those men in black. All I want to do is help you. I'll even bring you someplace safe where they cannot find you. Trust me." After several moments of mental debate, he grasped her hand and she helped him up. "Now, let's get out of here." She turned toward the entrance.

"Y-you can't go–go out that w-way."

"What?"

"The...the thorns—they curl in w-with stakes a-a-and knives. If y-you try to jump over th-them, you'll get caught in them a-and never ge-get out."

"Hmm." She leaned her chin on her fist in though. _This is Jack we're talking about. He must have made a secret way out that only he would think of._ An idea came to her. "Fear—take me to the place where you would feel safest hiding from someone."

He thought for several moments, then set off through the entrance, leading her back down the passage. She thought he was leading her back to the outside until he veered off toward the ivory skeleton. He stopped and stared at it for a while, bemused, as if he didn't understand why he'd come here. He picked up what looked like a rock beside the skeleton—it turned out to be a cleverly folded blanket—and stared at it as though it would reveal an answer.

There was a hole in the wall where the cloth had been, and Ames examined it carefully. There were a few "bones" scattered along the wall beneath it that had fallen from the skeleton. That tooth right there was about the same size and shape as that abnormal hole. "No," she muttered thoughtfully, "...It couldn't be that simple..." She picked up the tooth and pressed it into the hole. There was a sharp click, and rumbling followed, which caused Fear to, well, be fearful. "It's all right, mate. I'm pretty sure that this is our way out." And she was right. A section in the wall moved to reveal a steep flight of steps spiraling upward. "Come on. I'll go first, and the dog ahead of us." Fear dropped the canvas so that is covered the hole and timidly followed her up the steps. As soon as they were inside the chamber, the hidden stone slid back into place, sealing them inside. Fear whimpered. Amy held his hand reassuringly, and said in her most optimistic innocent-shoujo-little-girl voice, "Nowhere to go but up." And up they climbed—and up, and up, and up! "Floating, floating, like a balloon," she sang in the same cheery voice. At last, something glared in the light of the torch. The dog was sitting on the top step, scratching at what appeared to be a metal trap door, wagging his tail excitedly.

"I don't want to be here any more," Fear clung to her arm.

"We won't be here for long, desu! Get up here with me and help me open this. Ready? On three. One–two–_three!_" They pushed against the door, and with a great creaking, it flopped open, slamming against the ground. Ames climbed out, momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. She helped her companion out and looked around. They were on a large rock formation, which seemed to be surrounded by a sea of green. Treetops, so she realized. They were on top of the stone hill, out of view of anyone and anything that could not see above the canopy.

A single fault, perhaps a fathom wide and several long, broke the top of the hill. It was filled with greenery (so it must not have been so deep as to pierce the ceiling of the caves); grasses, small plants. One single large-leafed tree rose from the crack (and its trunk only several inches thick). A small spring bubbled in the shade in that miniature oasis, fed by a tiny trickle whose source could not be discerned. "Perfect!" the girl cried. "I'm parched!" And as she kneeled and drank from the tiny pool, something glinted in its depths. She reached in and pulled out a fistful of emeralds, cut and uncut. "So that's your game, is it?" There were plenty more in there. Ames replaced her handful to its watery bed—she had already taken something and could not bring herself to take more.

"We–we're terribly high up," she heard Fear stammer with his high, trembling voice. She turned around to see him staring off the far edge, where the sea of trees did not extend to, the hound sitting beside him. She joined them and discovered that the cliff reached straight down to the ocean several hundred feet below. There was a small bay at its base, rocky and jagged, water frothy and treacherous. The remains of a rowboat floated in the shelter of a boulder.

"So no one can get in this way, either," she murmured. However, there was a small niche that ran the heigth of the cliff, and she spied a knotted rope. "He must climb with that. But how do we get out of here?"

The dog's curiosity showed them the answer. They discovered a narrow, steep stairway, perhaps two feet wide, running down one side of the cliff, and stopping when it reached the level of the jungle. It was a dangerous, long path, which did not help Amy's acrophobia, and she would have poofed them all to safety, had she not been so tired from their "little" expedition. Thus, they crawled down the incline on their stomachs. Their hands—and paws—touched the lush grass of the jungle, and they praised their fortune that they hadn't fallen. They sat for several minutes, recovering from such a nerve-racking experience, before Ames finally decided that they should return to town. She had been up all night on the town with James, and this adventure had exhausted her remaining energy. Wait—"James!" she cried. "We have to go back and make sure he's okay!" And she took off at a sprint back toward town.

They had slowed to a walk by the time they had reached town. Amy, remembering that she had borrowed a horse, communicated with a questioning tone happiness with life to the dog. The hound responded with a fondness of his human and no memory of and maltreatment. "You have a good life to return to, then." Which was good, because she had been prepared to take him with her at any sign of bad treatment or living conditions. She took a deep breath and concentrated, her hand on the fox hound's head as she summoned the strength to turn him back into a horse. "Thanks, mate. You've been infinitely helpful," she said gratefully, patting him on the neck. The gelding butted her affectionately with his nose and a nicker, then trotted happily off to find his home.

A sharp pang reminded her of James, and she sprinted back toward the old, deserted marketplace where she had left him to face those two other men. She was about to round the corner into the area when a terrible sense stopped her in her tracks. She looked at Fear. "What's over there may be something scary. I want you to stay right here, and don't come out unless I tell you to, okay?"

"O–okay."

"Promise you won't run?"

"P-promise," he assured her, sitting against the wall and drawing his knees to his chin.

_Out of Fear comes Trust_, she mused to herself. Taking a deep breath, she crept around the corner of the building. It was deathly silent, and drops of blood spattered the dusty road under her boots. She kept her eyes plastered to the ground, afraid to look up. At last, a shape came into her peripheral vision, and she instinctively looked at it. The motionless form held her frozen, unable to move, a hand pressed against her mouth, and she gasped, and continued to gasp, on the verge of tears, on the verge of hyperventilation. There, most likely dead, lay one of the pirates James had been fighting off. Blood pooled around him, and his face was pressed into the dust.

At last, she was able to force out a word. "James!" she screamed. There was a moan, and she whirled around to see the body of the other pirate, prone and eagled be a collapsed pile of crates. "Oh my _G-d!!_" she cried, quickly losing control. "What have you done?!" There was another moan, and some of the crates in the pile shifted. She raced over to th splintered pile and frantically tossed piece after piece out of the way in a frenzied dig to find someone she was sure she had begun to hate.

At last, she unearthed the form of the former Commodore. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he was panting as though he couldn't breathe properly. His clothes were torn, and he was covered in blood that was more his own than his adversaries'. He appeared to be in a great deal of pain. "James!" she cried again, eyes red with unshed tears, about ready to slap him and accuse him of...

"Amy," he croaked.

"You killed—you—you—yh," she began to sob.

He cut her off before she could finish the accusation. "B-black—masks," he struggled to say. Her eyes widened, and before she could ask, he passed out, leaving Amy frightened and confused.

* * *

So there you all have it. I finally incorporated Cesar Milan into my story! I put a dog in there just for that purpose (although it did seem to help the plot along... I had a tough time on the beagle vs. fox hound debate, though. Kinda sad. I did a few hours' research too. Wow.) 

Hope you enjoy. Started chapter 22 just now while I was at church -sweatdrop- It wasn't during the service, I promise! Anywaffles, couple more chapters in this realm before we get back to the crossovers. Weee!

I'm going away for Thanksgiving. I know some of you are too, so I'll be patient and actually wait for reviews this time. (Sorry, I'm a teenager. I'm not normally built to be patient -sweatdrop- ) Nonetheless, review when you read!

CMS


	22. Higher Education

Hey! Less than a month this time! Woot! Now, I know this chapter is a bit sappy. Sorry. I was in an anime/manga state of mind. Ah well. You know, I keep telling myself about how I'm going to tell you guys about this one experience, and I right made up my mind to tell it to you now. Now if only I could remember it!

Reviews!

**Inwë:** Sorry, mate. James been harmed. Organization XIII? Sorry, mate.

**Captain Rika Kisuktai:** FINALLY! Someone gets it! But the details? Well, they'll have to wait...

**Little Miss Sparrow:** References to James being a cat? Now what could be the significance of that? I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, my dear. -winkwink- But yeah, National Treasure was what I was going for. Can't WAIT for the sequel! Cesar Millan equals my hero. Woo.

**EvilChibiHikari:** Impatience will get you nowhere, mate. Ah well, I updated sooner anyway.

**RespectTheSporks, Merry, and ArmoredSoul:** Thanks for the reviews. (And Mer, I'll get to it, I promise.)

**Disclaimer:** Oh, come on! It's almost Christmas! Think Disney will give it to me? -Disney folk glare- -sigh- Hhh...I guess not.

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Untitled for a Sudden Lack of Creativity**

"_Black Masks."_

Those words echoed in Amy's mind as she watched Tia Dalma coming in and out of that room to get supplies. Shortly after James had fainted in Tortuga, she had poofed the three of them—the third being Fear—back to the bayou. As soon as she had seen Norrington, Tia had set to work tending his injuries. Amy, more paranoid now, after the excursions of the day, furiously saw her attentions as other than what they were.

At last, her own care for his welfare outweighed her assumptions of his murdering the pirates, and she crept into the bedroom to see him. He was conscious, but just barely. A wooden shiver jutted out from between two of his ribs, and something which had been lodged in his shoulder now lay on a table beside him. His shirt and coat, torn and stained, hung over the foot of his bed. His eyes, where they had been staring at the ceiling, rolled to see her, and he turned his head to smile reassuringly at her, albeit weakly. "Did you get him?" he whispered nonchalantly.

She did not move from the door. "Hai."

He smiled again, triumphantly. "And are you all right?"

"I might be," she grunted, "once I get an explanation."

"Yes. But 'dat will have ta wait," Tia Dalma replied as she came in again. She went to his side and rested a fingertip on top of the shiver. "Brace yaself, Com'dore." And she barely gave him time to before she pulled the wood out of him with a slight, unconcerned smile, bordering on amusement. James let out a strangled gasp, which he tried to suppress with gritted teeth. He blinked away the mist in his eyes from the pain, looking up at her in gratitude. She picked up the coconut chalice and offered it to him. "Drink, an' sleep now." He obeyed, downing the deliciously-scented liquid. Within moments, his eyes blinked shut, and he was fast asleep. The mystic left the rest of the beverage on the table, beside the shiver and that other item. "You canna' be angry wit' him for somet'ing ya da not know him done," she murmured to the lass as she walked past. "Get some res' now. Ya sleepin' on ya feet!"

"Mmh," the lass grunted noncommitally, and continued to lean against the wall with crossed arms long after the mystic had left. She needed to think, and for some reason, it always seems easier to think when a sleeping person is in the room. ...As long as they don't snore loudly and obnoxiously... After several minutes, she approached the unconscious form. How could someone with a past like his sleep so peacefully? Her eyes wandered to the bandages, and she knew that these injuries could not be from either of the men he'd fought. He was much too skilled for that... Wasn't he? She sighed. _Maybe I'm just imagining him to be more than he really is._

She turned to the night-stand, and that thing that had been lodged in James' shoulder caught her eye. She gasped at its lethal appearance, and was awed by its foreignness. It was a single, crescent-moon-shaped blade, about six or seven inches in diameter. The outer half was gold in colour, and dull in the middle of the curve for holding, but sharp on the ends to catch in flesh. The inner half was silver and sharpened to a lethal edge the whole curve. _Black masks_... What could it be?

——————————

"When Amy went after Fear, I chose to stay behind to dissuade those two pirates. We fought for a long time, but after a while, I was able to get into a position where I could threaten one of their lives, and that was when they surrendered. It was at this time that, as I was releasing the pirate, there was a great lurch of the ground, and a sound—oh, such a sound!—shook us to the dust. In the middle of the air, it seemed like a purple swirling hole tore open, and half a dozen men jumped out from it. They were dressed entirely black, from head to toe. Nothing was exposed; not their faces, not even their eyes.

"They came at us like sharks to blood, and we had no chance. They moved so swiftly. Before I could even wind up to attack, my target would be suddenly behind me. I did manage to catch one with my sword, but when it went into him, he disappeared into wisps of smoke, as though he were little more than an illusion.

"They had these curving, oddly-shaped swords, which they hacked at us with. We could parry some of their attacks, but as I have mentioned, they moved so swiftly that we could not shield ourselves from injury. They also carried shuriken, which were easier to dodge than their direct attacks. But along with the throwing-stars, they had what looked like throwing-moons. Those caught in our swords and threw us off-balance. At last, after several minutes, one of the pirates went down. His comrade began to fight all the more fiercely, but then several of them ganged up on him, and the next time I saw him, he did not move again.

"Of course I was by this time very angry. What had any of us done to deserve the attack? We who they had never seen before. (Well, at least I _think_ I have not seen them. I do not think that I know any person who can move as they can.) I was fighting with all my might, but it was not nearly good enough. A throwing-moon was in my shoulder, and this distracted me. Before I could react, all of them as one were upon me, and I found myself hefted up and hurled through the air. I landed on the pile of crates, which collapsed under my impact and impaled me with a splinter.

"One of the men pushed away one of the crates so that he could see me, and said in a deep voice, 'Where is the Guardian?' I told him I did not know. He put his hand over my open eyes, and I felt a jolt go through me. 'He does not know,' he called to the others who, so I could see, were interrogating the pirates in a similar manner—they were still alive, thank the Lord!—and continued to say, 'I have checked his mind. He does not know. However...he is searching for the mistake we Shattered a few months back.'

"'Probably a friend of his,' another replied. 'Time is almost up. We must move on.' And with that, he made a scratching motion in the air, and another hole opened.

"The man who had read my mind turned back to me. 'You must associate with some magic in order to find those pieces. But since you aren't associated with the real Guardian, I shall let you live. For now.' He jumped up and leapt into the tear, and as soon as he was through, it closed with such force as caused more crates to topple over on top of me.

"It was about an hour after this—unless I passed out—that Amy found me."

——————————

Amy walked into the main room of the shack a few mornings later, and, with a yawn pointed a finger to conjure some breakfast. "Awai!" A small cat-bear-creature-thing with wings and a pompom tail appeared instead.

"Kero-chan?!" she gasped.

"Mm? Awah! Nandaiyo! Nananda koko wa?"

"Gomenazai!" she apologized hastily, pointing again. The little creature disappeared. "Oeh... I wanted cold pizza, and I got the Guardian of the Seal. Go fig."

James had explained himself the morning after Ames had poofed them to Tia Dalma's. The mystic had explained that the men in black were most likely in line with the people trying to destroy the Realms. She had also assured the lass that both pirates were still alive and would probably survive. "However," she had continued, "d'ose men will try interfere wit' de gatherin' of Jack's pieces if them t'inks it will t'reaten deir mission. You must learn to defen' him life."

Amy yawned again and poofed (much more accurately) some leftover pizza from her refrigerator at home, sitting in the window to munch sleepily as she tried to wake up. Normally she was never hungry for breakfast, but recently she had been hungrier in her waking hours. The front door creaked open, and James staggered in, a sword clenched in his left hand, and his bad arm in a sling. He stood in the doorway, attempting to catch his breath. "Na, James, what are you doing out so early with that sword?"

"I need to train."

"You need to rest," she countered, turning around to face him. He seemed to be taken aback by the way she was looking at him—but wasn't she just giving him her do-what-I-say-or-else look? She didn't know. "Why is it so urgent that you need to train, anyway?"

"I was defeated. If it is my job to protect you, and I cannot win against those whom I should protect you from, the what good am I?" He looked at the ground. "And if those men are now beginning to attack us, then I need to become stronger, faster, and more alert as soon as possible."

"That's all very well, but if you end up hurting yourself even more when you _should_ be resting, what good will you be _then?_"

"Listen to de girl or you will get hurt," Tia advised him from the doorway.

James turned to her with a frustrated frown. "Well I can't bloody just sit around until I am well enough!" he snapped, wheeling around to go back outside.

'You wouldn't be just sitting around. You would be getting better," the lass assured him passionately. "You would be trying your best to feel better than ever so that when you train, you can be at the top of your game instead of being hindered by your injuries."

He paused, turning back to consider her seriously, as though he were picking out something different about her. "My game," he repeated, deep in thought. At last, he broke into a smile. "I have an idea."

——————————

"To keep de man'festations you've a'ready caught safe from harm, ya should mold dem into single form," Tia Dalma proposed.

Amy stared at her dumbly. "Wecandothat?"

Teacher nodded. "But it wi' not be complete."

"I won't d-do it!" They both looked up to see Fear standing at the foot of the steps. "I w-won't be put into an-nother form."

"Whoa, easy now," Amy soothed. "I know thins seem scary now. And they're going to keep getting scarier. Do you remember a few days ago when I promised you that I would do whatever it takes to keep you safe? This is how I must keep that promise."

"Can't you keep me safe here?"

She shook her head with a sad smile. "No. Or else I wouldn't agree ti doing this. Don't worry, you'll still be there. Trust me." Since Trust had been discovered within Fear, it had been showing itself often, and it showed itself now. "It won't be right away, anyway. I still have to learn how to do it."

"And for dat, you mus' step up ya trainin'," the priestess said.

In the days following, Ames was tested to the best of her abilities and was forced to make them even better. She was even required to better her physical skills so that her magic would travel through her more easily. For instance, at one point in the following days, she was balanced precariously on the top of a bamboo pole, wielding another staff of bamboo. The objective was to leap from pole to pole while using the staff to deflect objects being thrown at her—all without falling or getting hit.

"Focus!" James cried, hurling a snail shell in her direction. She heard the air whistling in its cavities—for it was just out of her peripheral vision, and had not enough time to turn and see it coming—and leaned backward to dodge it, pitching dangerously on her perch and slipping off, but managing to catch the pole. After dangling for a moment or two, she climbed back up and resumed her position. "She's getting better," he commented to Teacher, standing beside him.

"Yes. But she has long way to go. Even wit' your arm a'sling, you could easily do what she does now."

"How is it that you know my limits before even _I_ do?"

She smiled at him, a hand resting painfully on his injured shoulder. "I can see what odders cannot."

He blinked his acknowledgment, giving her an imploring look so that she might release her grip, and hurled another handful of stones and shells at the girl.

At last, Tia ended the session and called the girl down. "Ahhhhh," the lass sighed as she sank into a wooden chair. "Can't wait to go to sleep. What time is it?"

"Near noon," James answered.

"Aah, so early!"

"You will have de chance rest a bit afore ta train again t'night. But first," Teacher added, "where is ya sword?"

Ames held out her hand, and her cutlass appeared with a burst of light. "Right here," she announced, sitting up. "Do I need it for something?"

"You must temper it become resistant t' magic."

James' eyes widened. "She can do that?"

"If she had confidence in it." The priestess crossed to the opposite side of the table and ducked down out of sight. James and Ames exchanged expressions before the latter looked away.

"Amy—," he began to say, when Tia Dalma rose again, hefting an old chest onto the table.

"What's that?" Amy asked.

"Is my library o' spells an' charms." She undid the lock and dumped them all onto the table.

James picked one up. Its title read: _Common Spells for the Everyday Mind Control_. His grip tightened on the book as he stared at it in silent shock.

"Where did you get all of these?"

"When ya get paid as I do, chil', ya can get any'ting." She picked up a small, thick book in black and gold, and tossed it to the lass. "Dere is a spall in here can do what needs be done."

"So wait, I need spells and charms to get things done, too?"

"Only fa t'ings dat you d'not fully unde'stand."

The girl flipped open the spellbook, skimming over its pages with a calm curiosity. "Which one am I looking for?"

"One fa' protection an' deflection a' magic."

"Well, here's one conveniently under the same title. I'm game."

Teacher nodded sagely and presented the cutlass, holding it so that it lay flat against her palms. "Ya mus' have de olive branch dipp'd in oil."

The lass conjured both and, dabbing the oil on the blade, she recited the incantation:

"_Magic attracts magic,  
__and so it repels,  
__and can damage a fellow  
__or may save his soul.  
__One's only defense  
__against such a power  
__is magic alone  
__to deflect other magic.  
__And so I call  
__upon ancient magics  
__to charm this item  
__for protection against  
__direct and indirect magics."_

There was a windchiming sound, and the blade glowed gently for a few moments. "Wow, that didn't rhyme at _all_," the girl commented. "I mean, I guess it doesn't have to, but it always seems cooler. It wasn't meaningful or beautiful or eloquent, either."

"Not all magic is as you espect."

The lass took the proffered sword, her eyes running up and down its length. "So how do we know if it worked?"

"Encounta magical attack an' you will see."

Ames pointed her sword at an imaginary foe. "Then I'll be ready to meet that adve'sary!" she declared in a thicker accent than usual. "Ew, did I just talk like that? Man, my friends _already_ think I'm putting on a fake accent. What'll they think of me if I start talking like that?"

"Hey, wait a minute—_I_ talk like—."

"Den ya' sha' be conscious a' ya speech," Tia interrupted. "Now, get some food an' rest. Ya need ya ene'gy fa' tonight's training."

"Eh? Hai." She retreated into the next room, sinking into an armchair and curling up in a ball for a nap and setting her cutlass against the table beside her. After several yawns and a few minutes' daydreaming of having cat ears that would perk up when she heard something and sag when she was sad, she fell into a restless slumber. It was unfamiliar—and strangely satisfying—to sleep during the day. Normally, she could not sleep while the sun was out unless she was truly exhausted. Her present unconsciousness speaks for itself.

After a time, unable to further his own training because of his arm, and at a loss for something to do, James crept into the room for a book. It ended up sitting uselessly beside him on the bed as he watched the girl sleep. It was a short while before he saw a pair of brown cat ears poking through her hair. "What—?" He smiled wryly with a snort and approached to examine them. However, it was not long before his attention was drawn to her expression instead.

Her brow was creased and her mouth frowned, and a hand was clenching at her maroon blanket. "Amy?" he whispered, gently moving a strand of hair out of her face. At the touch, she suddenly tensed up and curled into a tighter ball. _Bad dream_, he understood, and resolved to stay there so that he could comfort her as soon as it woke her.

She seemed to relax after a while, although the frown remained. Finally, she opened her eyes, already wet with tears, and allowed herself to cry, thinking she was alone. She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder, and when she saw its owner, she screamed for terror, and again and again and did not stop until he drew her into a hug with her head pressed against his chest. She proceeded to sob uncontrollably, as girls with truly horrific dreams are apt to do.

After some minutes the tears stopped and she struggled away from him, staggering unsteadily for the door. "Amy—." She stopped in her tracks at his voice, and did not turn around to face him. "You–ah–may want to, er, take care of those ears... Not those, pet, the other ones."

She reached up dazedly to feel the new ears before her hand fell numbly to her side and she continued on her way with a shuffle. James stayed where he was, staring at the ground, and listened to the sound of a creaking door, the slosh of water in the basin which was splashed against the lass's face.

She returned after a short while, a completely different person, fully recovered from that which plagues all who sleep, spirits lifted, toweling dry her feline ears which she now found so favorable. It was as if nothing had happened.

"What's wrong, pet?" James asked in little more than a mumble, still kneeling by the chair and not looking up.

She paused in her drying, bent over sideways. "Nothing. I had a bad dream and was startled by you when I woke up. That's all."

He rose and strode straight into her personal bubble. "But it goes on before this, doesn't it? Your cheer toward me is little more than an act, and your courtesies have been as like ice."

"I don't know what you—."

"Who do you think you are fooling?" he bent down so that they were nose to nose, gaze boring into her with a terrible intensity. Her eyes widened, ears flattening, and she took a half-step away. His countenance drooped with realization. "You're afraid of me," he said in such a dejected tone that it about broke your heart, as he retreated to sit mortified on the bed.

"Well yeah. I mean, did you see your face jut then? _Sca-ry_," she attempted to brush everything away.

This brought him no comfort. "Yes, but there is more to this, isn't there?"

"Ha. I couldn't—"

"_Please_, Amy—I cannot bear to have you look at me that way."

Her cheerful composure dissolved, and there was a long and tense silence. "I don't mean to hurt you, James," she at last said softly, not looking at him.

"You've been like this ever since that day in Tortuga," he said slowly. "What happened to cause such a rift between us? Is it because I wouldn't let you fight?"

"No, no—it isn't anything like that. It's just...when I came back to find you and saw the pirates, I thought they were dead, and I thought—I thought..." She was beginning to tear up, and took a deep breath to calm herself. James took the opportunity to finish her statement.

"You thought I had killed them. But—"

"You didn't. I know that."

"Then what is wrong?"

"Well, it made me realize that—" She suddenly halted, then shook her head. "Nevermind. It's stupid."

"If it is having this sort of effect on us, then it cannot be stupid, love."

"But I—"

"Amy," he silenced her softly, hands balling into fists in the sheets. "Please."

There was another long silence, so intense that it seemed that either of them were about to burst. Then... "Even just thinking that you would have murdered them made me realize that I wouldn't put it past you to have done it. I mean, that's what your job is, right? You kill anyone who seems like a threat. I mean yeah, I guess your excuse is that you're protecting people and everything, but when you get right down to it, you're little more than a murderer yourself."

This truly hurt him. "We had this discussion not long ago, in the winter when we were helping the homeless. I, in a moment of weakness and self reproach, called myself a murderer, no better than those whom I was ridding the world of." Her ears were flattening a fraction with each word, hands balled so tightly into fists that they were shaking. "And you had assured me that I was only following the law."

"Yeah, well I never actually thought about it."

"And this has made you afeard of me?"

"No! It just made me see you in a different light," she replied promptly, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. She padded over to him, crouching before him, ears still drooping, and reached for his hands. At first he withdrew, but she grasped his hands anyway, holding them in both of her own. "These hands..." She turned them so that they were palm-up. "These hands have been stained with the blood of countless and nameless men. They have torn the life from the body without hesitation." She rose, sitting sideways on his knees, and cupped his face in her hands, and touched her thumbs over his eyes for a moment before looking into them. "These eyes have burned with rage, and have been the last that men have ever seen. They have glowed red. They have been the gaze of a demon that seeks only to take their lives, whether by the blade or by the hemp." She rested her head on his shoulder, trying once again not to cry, and put a hand on his chest. "This heart—has been willfully misguided—"

He suddenly took her hand in his. "Please stop. I will not try to justify my actions. All I can say is that I did what I knew was right. That aside," he added, "what exactly was your point, anyway?"

"All I was getting at was that it makes me see you differently. I mean, I can't hold your hand without remembering that, nor look into your eyes, not consider your heart without suddenly recalling the deaths that you are responsible for." He opened his mouth to say something, but she said it for him. "And I hate myself for it, because saying it out loud, it sounds so stupid, cuz it doesn't change who you are, and it doesn't change the James I know. It's just that there's more to you and I don't know how to deal—no, no. You can't change the past. G-d, I'm such a dramatic teenage idiot."

"Amy—"

"I need food," she sniffled, rising and exiting the room, leaving James to stare after her with an amusedly bemused smile. Women...

——————————

It felt strange to be back at school, and even though she had used the time-turner to go back so that hardly any time had passed, her friends greeted her as though she had been gone as long, anyway (and it confused them that they missed her so much.) However, even among the cheer of her friends and comrades, something felt very wrong. It seemed as though the world was tense, waiting for something to happen, but unsure what. Like a storm was fast approaching. As the day went by—and it was actually an unusually good day at school—Ames began to believe that the tension was related to the pending War of the Worlds. Her world was nearly bursting at the seams as it struggled to maintain its separation from the other Realms.

Amy herself was debating whether or not to take her friends into her confidence and tel them the truth about everything that was going on. Several opportune moments presented themselves to her throughout the day, but by school's en, every one of them had slipped through her fingers.

Her father picked her up, as usually (even though they lived less than a mile away), and as they drove toward home, the lass reflected on how big a secret this was becoming, and how big a lie she told her loved ones on a daily basis. She resolved to warn the world soon to be ready, and that until then, she should at least let her parents about her personal side of the secret.

When they arrived at home, Amy called out a greeting and her mother's voice replied from the next room. The lass strode into the den and dropped her bag in the usual spot, answering her usual as er mum asked how the day had been. Her father came in about then and said to his wife, "Nothing happened over there, either."

"Happened? Thewhodidthewhatnow?"

"Nothing. That's just it. We've been worried all day, and no one knows why."

Amy's brows came together, and she made the reply she would have made before she had become aware of what was really going on: "Maybe it's the Apocalypse."

"Now now," her mother chuckled, "I'm sure it's something as bad as that."

_My dear woman, you have no idea,_ Ames thought guiltily. She should tell them. She should tell them now. "Hey, Mom...do you believe in the concept of parallel worlds?"

"Why, now we do. Your Commodore friend is from another world—and you just got back from one mid-yesterday. You missed church, you know."

"Yeah...I miscalculated a little..."

"Well, just try not to miss it next week," he father replied.

"How is whatever you're doing going, anyway?"

Ames hesitated. Opportune moment... Opportune moment... "Well... we've made a lot of progress—oh! Did I tell you I went to Tortuga"

"You _what?_" Perhaps she shouldn't have told her mother that bit...

"Yeah, well, we went during the day, and besides I had James there to take care of me."

"Then how was it?"

"Interesting. Like going to a working historical town, only it's not historical, it's present. You know, ironically their library is very nice. I got a really nice hat, too." Which has, thankfully, been washed. Her mother expressed an interest in seeing it, and the girl, both relieved and frustrated at the waste of opportunity, eagerly left to go get it. When she showed it to her parents, they exclaimed that it was a very nice hat, and admired the plume. Well, that was it. The opportunity was gone, to be replaced with cheer and family bonding.

——————————

"Well you're quiet," her mother remarked amid a commercial break. The two were watching the Dog Whisperer together that evening.

"I'm just thinking." There was a short silence. "Mom, do you believe in magic?"

"I suppose to some extent—that's how you visit James."

"W-yeah, but what about magic in people?"

"Well—like the magic to inspire and make your dreams come true? Or to spiritually touch others and share the gift of Christ? I believe in that kind of magic..."

"No—no—" sigh. "I mean, like, _magic_. Sorcery. That kind of stuff."

"Not really. Why?"

"Well I..." _OPPORTUNE MOMENT OPPORTUNE MOMENT OPPORTUNE MOMENT!_ her brain was screaming at her. "I-I'm reading this book—really interesting—and it jjust kind of makes me think." _DARNIT!_

"You do know the difference between fiction and reality—," her mother was alarmed.

"Of course I do!" she reassured the woman. As her mum calmed, she went on. "It just got me thinking, that's all." _Baka baka baka baka baka baka baka baka baka..._

"Oh. Well, no. I don't believe in that kind of magic."

And so was wasted another most opportune moment...

——————————

"_Yes, tis tru',"_ Tia Dalma replied forebodingly when Ames contacted her and told her about conditions in her own world. _"D'ere is similar feeling here, alt'ough ver' faint an' hard t' detec'."_

"_Can you send James over? I need someone to talk to."_

Teacher chuckled in her mind. _"Ya ha' not tell'd ya luv' ones 'bout ya powe's?"_ She laughed again when the lass answered sheepishly. _"All de better. De comm'dore been lookin' for an escuse t'come. Him wants t'try somet'ing in ya game-worl' t' help him train."_

"_Kingdom hearts? That's crazy."_ Pause. _"Okay, crazy enough to work, but still! Oh well. A commodore's gotta do what a commodore's gotta do, I guess. Well, either way, I'll be glad to see him. Well, let him know I'm opening a passage, will ya? Thanks. It'll be narrow, though—don't want it to further offset the world's balance any more than it already has been."_

"_Of course, chil'. But I warn ya: de collision o' realms will cause destrucshun of any remainin' manifestations. Howeva, de reason dat collision so close is because dere is a link 'tween all de manifestations, d'us linking all de realms dey in. De forms been loose sev'ral mont's. Much longer an' 'twill be too late. De links in d' realms will cause a collision, an' de man'festations destroyed. You and ya comm'dore mus' find de nex' emotion as soon a' possible."_

Ames replied that they would return by week's end. The conversation thus ended, and James was poofed into her den. "Er... why are you wearing your armor?"

"Well it would have helped when I was facing those men in black," he replied. "And besides, when you put me into the game, you're going to make it so that I don't have any abilities of weapons that I couldn't possibly have in reality. The armour will help."

"An unending source of enemies to fight. Well, just don't go getting yourself killed. Donald can help you there—ask around. But come back sometimes, will you? We need to talk about some things, okay?"

He vowed that he would, and with a touch to the screen, he jumped into the game and sought and means to better his fighting—despite his injured arm still a-sling and lack of a video-game-character's superhuman abilities. "Good luck," she murmured to the television screen. "We're gonna need those newfangled skills of yours wherever we're going."

* * *

And there you have it. Wee, going laser-tagging this weekend! Leave me a review! 


	23. Hearts Entwined, Destinies Joined

Oki, so I just saw National Treasure Book of Secrets last night with some friends—it was awesome, as expected—and we all went to Friendly's right after for some snackage. We then got into this HUGE discussion—oki, it was more like a monologue on my part—about the Heinz 57 conspiracy. Yeah, I'm usually no good at improvising, but I suppose this was an exception, because I wasn't contradicting myself as I usually am when I make something like that up on the spot. We all decided we should make a mockumentary about it. XD (Contact me if you want to hear it, although I may get my details and stuff a little screwy...)

All right, so here's an update. It's a couple days late (sorry!) but at least it's here. And at least I updated Fears for all a ya'll. :P

Reviews! Lots and lots! Thank you!

**ArmoredSoul:** Your hugs are appreciated. And don't worry, my Japanese is minimal. So I just talk in squeaks and say that my glasses lenses are having a conversation. Eheheh...

**Authoressinhiding:** It was much fun, by the way, although I was totally clueless most of the time. I took out a base though. Woot.

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Me too. I won't let any of my friends tell me about the extras at all, not until I can get it for myself. (So don't you spoil anything neither, ya hears?)

**Captain Rika Kisuktai:** Your review makes me laugh. That in itself deserves an individual reply.

At your second review: Sorry, mate, it _is_ just you. No, as I mentioned, the only fear-scent that a human could detect was fear-incarnate. All I said was that she _remembered_ it from the Warriors realm. And she's hungrier in waking hours now because she's more active.

**EvilChibiHikari:** Well just lucky for you I updated faster than usual. Rather believable, eh? Why thank you! I was afraid it might have been too sappy. Yeah, my mum doesn't know I'll be bawling either. Ah well. They shall see.

**RespectTheSporks:** You and EvilChibiHikari—you two really need to work on your impatience problems, lol. Here is and update.

**TheDreamChild:** Hey, thanks for the review. And don't fret about updating. You don't have to force anything out for Mer's and my sakes. We're fine with whatev.

**Disclaimer**I do not own Saïx puppy. He belongs to a Deviantart member. I also do not own the hippogriff scene. That's out of the Harry3 movie. However, I do own the Pirates franchises! MUAHAHAHAHAHA!! (And National Treasure and all of that. I finally figured it out: kidnap Jerry Bruckheimer, own the best franchises EVER! HAHAHA... oh noes, my tax dollars are at work coming to arrest me. See you in Canada!)

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Hearts Entwined, Destinies Joined**

James cried out with effort as his sword sliced through another Heartless, and it dissipated around the blade. He stood there, panting for breath, sweat running down his face as more Heartless leapt at him. He swung around to meet them, but was too slow. Just as their claws touched his armor, a bubble made up of hexagonal panels appeared around him. The neoShadows crashed into it, their attacks reflected on themselves, and they disappeared. He stood, immobilized, withing the Reflect spell, looking for the caster.

His aunt came into view. Her outfit had turned silver, and she seemed to hover, her feet several inches off the ground. Ultima and her new Horizon keyblade floated behind her. (Final Form, for those of you who know it.) "I think you've had enough for now, don't you?" she murmured calmly. Another handful of Heartless leapt at her from behind, but the keyblades, seemingly of their own minds, darted out and struck them away.

The Reflect spell wore off, and James motioned around them at the hundreds upon hundreds of Heartless surrounding them. There were monsters of every species (even including those from the first game, as well as bosses of all sorts.) "We'll have to get rid of all of these, first."

"Easy," she replied. "Thunder!" Predictably, bolts of lightning rained down on their enemies for several long minutes, taking out dozens. "Out of magic," she conceded at last, "Ooo, and no ethers...," she frowned as she reached into a pocket. "But here's a potion—you look like you need it!" She tossed the jar, and it broke over his head into a pair of bells, which rang their contents down on him.

"Much better than drinking it!" he cried.

The lass laughed, and reverted to her "normal" form, back to a single blade. With a grin at him, she leapt into battle, taking out dozens more. There were maybe twenty or so heartless of each species—and about a hundred or more species. ...It wouldn't take long. "I want chicken, I want liver," she sang crazedly as she smashed a Wyvern, "Meowmix, Meowmix, please deliver!"

James shot her a bemused look of concern, before engaging exhaustedly in the fight once more. He had been training here in the Great Maw for hours and hours of real time—which was like days, over a week, in the game. And, body no longer working like it would in the game, this meant he had gone without food or sleep. That infuriating duck—Donald had been his name—had been of help there, constantly casting cure and alleviating his symptoms. However, the duck had left him when the lass had turned up. But, even without the advanced healing abilities, he preferred the lass to the duck. She was _much_ better company!

"Skip, skip, skip to my Lou! Skip, skip, skip to my Lou!" she sang perkily, frolicking through waves of foes and playfully swinging her weapon about, throttling enemies left and right. "Skip, skip, skip to my Lou! Skip to my Lou, my dar-lin'!"

They took out Invisibles and Wyverns and neoShadows and Volcanic Lords and Blizzard Lords and Behemoths and all sorts of bosses the lass had met and beaten on previous occasions in the game. At last, there was only one scrawny little Shadow left, which James put his sword through with satisfaction. A wave of fatigue swept over him and he swayed; without meaning to, he toppled off balance to a sitting position, swords clattering away, favoring his injured arm.

The lass knelt at his side. "Easy, now. You've gone and work yourself out. Get to Merlin's and get some rest. I don't want you to fight anymore until you've gotten the chance to recover. On, and don't forget to eat! MacDuck sells ice cream, and I suppose that there must be a restaurant or something in town." With that, she tossed him several thousand munny.

"What's ice cream?—But wait, where are you going?" he asked as she turned to run off.

"To the World That Never Was. I'ma make a Saïx-puppy!" she cried hyperly. "See you in a few minutes!" and she ran off to god-knows-where.

———————————

"How can we find out where to go next?" Amy asked once back at the shack. "There haven't been any signs or dreams or anything."

"You are concerned," Tia Dalma said with amusement. Why did doubt and suspicion and worry entertain the woman so?

"You said it yourself—we're running out of time. And if we have no way of finding where the other manifestations are, then the realms will collide, and Jack will be lost forever!"

"Na who said dere was no way?" Teacher asked sternly, hands on hips. "I didn't hear it, no."

"Then how?"

"I will show you de way." The lass's expression brightened, only to darken again as the mystic added, "But late. Right now, you need fuse together what forms ya haves."

"And how will I do that?"

"I will show you de way," Tia repeated with a grin.

"But later?" the girl added with a resigned smile.

"O' course not. A' soon a' all de man'festashuns ya found been brought here, I will set ta teaching you."

"Ohhh... so _that's_ why you asked me to bring Laughter along."

"Yes. And Fear and Self-Confidence are here, also," James added, once more in pirate attire, arm still a-sling—thankfully, with the help of several potions and Cure spells in the KH world, his shoulder was nearly healed.

"Dat leaves jus' Pride an' Wisdom at de Pflöte plantachun." Predictably, turned and looked pointedly at Norrington, who rolled his eyes.

"_Must_ I?"

"You'd only have to row one way. You can _ride_ one of them back."

"Yeah. The problem with rowing: you need two arms."

This met silent stares before the girl finally said something along the lines of, "He _has_ got a point there, hasn't he—well then, Mr. Norrington," she went on in a wonderful Jack impression, "it seems that I shall be accompanying you. It is an opportune moment for me to shirk all sorts of physical work in your place, and rather use magic instead. 'Sides," she sniffed, "it's a sugarcane plantation, right? Bound to be plenty of rum."

"No. No rum," he resolved.

She semed to shudden, and asked with barely-contained horror, "But why's the rum gone?!"

This of course had the man smiling wryly and obviously trying not to (although this effort must indeed have been half-hearted, for a reader can well imagine that a commodore must be able to train his face.) "How do you do that so well?"

"It comes from practice, research, and sev'ral years' obsessin', mate. Savvy?"

And so they set out, the lass bending the water under their rowboat so that it carried them in whatever direction they needed to go. In a little over two hours—during which Ames amused herself by making fish float in bubbles of water—the boat floated ashore onto the bank of a stream flowing through the property of the Pflöte plantation. The two hiked through acres of sugarcane (a few stalks of which the girl was tempted to pilfer...) until they reached an open farmyard. James led the way confidently toward the stable. They strode in, and he met with a free black worker, conversing formally in French. The worker did not seem pleased to see them, but they were led down the aisle nonetheless. The last stalls, right beside one another, held the horse and the hippogriff. The doors were opened, and the typical bowing ritual ensued before both were brought out.

"Merci," was all Amy could say, with her minimal French, but she felt it was better than saying nothing. They began to walk back toward the boat so that it could be returned to the plantation, and as they were bidding their goodbyes, the worker placed a sack of sugarcane in her arms. She looked down at it in confusion. "What's this for?"

The worker answered in French, which James translated, "He says that it is in return for your thanks and courtesy. He says it means a lot, because there are so few white people who will treat the coloured as equals."

She blinked in surprise. "Where I come from, that's the way it is. Everyone is treated equally, and no one is punished because of their race."

James interpreted this in Franch to the worker, who smiled and replied in a heavy accent, "Ah wish de whol' worl' wa' lite dat."

"It _would_ be a better world," James admitted thoughtfully. The three shook hands and the worker left, carrying the rowboat above his head.

"Well," commented the lass after a few moments, "that was interesting."

James smiled and tousled her hair. "So...who's riding whom?"

"Well..." she looked longingly at the hippogriff she was leading. This would be her one and only chance to ride it before it would be fused with the other emotions. "I think..._you_ should take Pride, and I'll take Sensibility." Of course, it had seemed like an opportune for a Jane Austen reference... She took the horse's lead from him and mounted, still holding onto the hippogriff. "Well, go on, bow."

"Are you certain? I mean, don't _you_ wish to?" even as he asked this, he bowed low.

"Psh. I can ride one any ol' time if I feel like going to that realm. _You_, sir, on the other hand, will never have this chance again," she replied confidently as Pride returned the gesture. "See if he'll let you touch him. That's it, nice and slow... Great! He ought to let you ride 'im now!"

"Amy, I'm not so sure about thiii—," he started as her magic lifted him and plopped him on the creature's back. "I hardly know how to ride a horse—"

"Go on, git!" she cried, slapping the hippogriff on the rump. It broke into a gallop, wings unfolding, and it was all James could do to hold on as it began to flap said wings—And suddenly they were in the air! _Flying!_ James' breath hitched in his throat as he looked around in awe and amazement. He looked down and could see everything—the plantation, the river, the town off in the hills, the distant mountains, the sparkling ocean... He could see the girl, galloping far beneath him and waving and cheering, a huge grin just discernible on her face. In a moment, however, she fell behind, as his eagle-horse surged forward, wings beating magnificently.

The land soon ended and they were over the ocean. The hippogriff descended until they were skimming over its surface, a talon dipped gracefully in the water. It was such a speed and such a feeling as the commodore had never before experienced, and amid his exhilaration he did what any person experiencing such power and joy would do: He released his grip on the feathers, arms stretching out, and whooped... before nearly falling off as his mount unexpectedly veered upward again, and clinging once more to its neck.

Perhaps an hour and a half later, Ames and the horse were swimming into the bayou. Tia Dalma came out to greet them, but stopped herself as she noticed the absence of the lass's (human) companion.

She was about to ask his whereabouts, when, in this moment, the hippogriff broke through the trees, gliding gracefully toward them and lighting on the bank. Its rider wore a huge, triumphant grin, and his eyes sparkled with an elated joy. "That was amazing!" he panted to the girl, sliding off and giving Pride a grateful and well-deserved pat. "Wonderful—wonderful creature! I've never felt such a rush."

The mystic, as yet unnoticed, watched him with an almost shy smile that seemed so out of place on her face. However, when he looked up and spotted her, both smiles disappeared. And both pairs of eyes continued to sparkle. "Na' all de man'festachuns been gadered. Come, bot' o' you. It is time."

They followed her in—James shaking slightly and breathlessly from the adrenaline rush—and soon, all the five manifestations they had caught were somehow in the spare bedroom. Tia Dalma blessed each of the creatures, gave poor Fear a few consoling words, and proceeded to instruct the lass. "Draw ya sword an' use it ta focus ya magic. Good. Na point it ootward and call upon the elements for de magic you need."

Well, one can imagine that the lass would not make a spell without a flourish. She took a deep breath and recited, "Water, Fire, Earth and Air/ Binding powers with me please share./ The elements that make this man/ Please help make them him again./ And as we more forms of him find/ Let them with his essence bind." A great ball of light glowed at the tip of her blade. "Now those who our friend composite,/ those the same and opposite,/ each step forth and now become/ no more many, only one." She looked from form to form and hesitated a moment, taking a deep breath. "Love." The magnificent horse stepped toward the light, and as soon as its nose touched the globe, it became a stream of golden light and was absorbed into it. The light grew and began to take shape. "Self-esteem." The golden butterfly bobbed toward the magic, and a similar thing happened. "Laughter." Okay, so the dolphin couldn't exactly approach it as the others had, but he gave a great kick of his tale and began to float, swimming toward the shape. "Pride." James watched, face golden in the light, awed into little more than a staring, paralyzed mute. "Trust." And she looked at Fear with consoling, chocolate eyes. He nodded, eyes wide with apprehension. "Remember," she murmured softly, "you'll still be there. You just won't be alone."

"I know," he mumbled with an uncertain smile. Hesitating only a moment more, he then lifted his chin with unforseen confidence and strode into the light. "Goodbye."

"It's not goodbye," she whispered as he disappeared. "It's hello." There was a blinding flash and the light took the shape of a human body. Teacher joined hands with James and Amy—the former of which looked at her in an alarmed confusion—and instructed that they join hands with one another also.

"We will need all de magic can get."

"I think you are mistaken. _I_ don't have any magic," Norry murmured.

Tia gave him a meaningful look, dark eyes digging deep into his own, looking into the depths of his soul. "All living t'ings has magic," she replied slowly, "But only some can use it." James blinked and, despite his bewilderment, followed her instruction. Satisfied, she closed her eyes and murmured in an ethereal voice, "Hearts entwined, destinies joined."

The chant was taken up by the others. "Hearts entwined, destinies joined. Hearts entwined, destinies joined." James' heart began to beat faster with the memories of a secret death. The killer had been chanting similarly, and the last words of the victim had been eerily similar to what they were chanting now. Painful memories burned in his mind, and his brow furrowed over his intense, blank gaze, but he continued to chant, regardless, even when his voice began to shake. "Hearts entwined, destinies joined. Hearts entwined, destinies joined. Hearts entwined, destinies joined." They could all feel the energy growing. The form began to glow more and more brightly as they chanted. "Hearts entwined, destinies joined."

With a blinding explosion of light, the binding was complete. The light flew from the form, falling in glittering shimmers around them and revealing a face so familiar, so loved, and so missed. There was Jack, floating unconscious and unclothed in the middle of the room. The lass (with averted eyes, to be sure) pointed her sword at him once more, guiding him into the bed and covering him gently with the sheets. There was a general golden glow around him, and his hair and sheets billowed and bobbed as though he were still afloat.

"It's good to see you again, Jack," the lass whispered with relieved tears in her eyes, laying a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Him will egsist now, even if ya sha' fail," Tia Dalma announced. "Him will love on. But him isn' complete."

"Right. We should find the next emotion as soon as possible." She looked wearily back to James—wearily because she had used a huge amount of magic and worn herself out—who was silently staring and looking very shaken. "Are you all right? You seem disturbed."

"J-just unearthing suppressed memories," he confessed shakingly, before turning and rushing out of the room, leaving Tia and Amy staring after him.

* * *

So there you have it. Hippogriff scene written to "Buckbeak's Flight" on the HP3 soundtrack.  
Happy holidays! Leave a review on the way out. Kthanksbye. 


	24. Yume

Yes, had this done within a week. Took to week's end to type though. And decided to wait some more after before updating (just to get the next chapter well under way). Hope you all had a good Chrismahannukwaanzika.

Reviews! Woot:

**Authoressinhiding:** You already know. The whole 'getting impaled' incident... Wouldn't you want to suppress that kind of memory?

**Destinysway114:** Well, good luck with your writing, then.

**Inwë:** Saïx-puppy. Look him up on deviantart. XD

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Poor James! Poor James! Oh do let's all feel sorry for him now, shall we? Lol. I suppose I keep wanting the world to sympathize with him... eheh...

**Captain Rika Kisuktai:** I would be angry too. There is a petition online that you can sign to get them to put him back in. Link (ish): h t t p (colon, slash slash) www. petitiononline. com / mod (underscore) perl / signed. cgi? potcjn (just take out the spaces and replace the underscore, etc., and you should be good. Let's hope ffnet will let me post at least that...)

**Disclaimer** As I said in the last chapter: All one needs is to kidnap the producer of the franchise, and one owns said franchise! That's why Mr Bruckheimer is duct-taped and gagged in my closet. MUAHAHAHAHA!!

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Yume 夢**

A day or so had passed, during which Ames had recovered from all the magic she had used. Now, she sat in a wooden chair, one knee drawn up, silently watching the sleeping, seemingly floating Jack. James and Tia were with her—James in the armchair the lass seemed to like using as a bed, and Tia standing be the door—all silently staring, each lost in their own thoughts.

The poor Commodore had been unusually quiet. Ever since the binding ritual. It was as though he could never settle down—a tad jumpy, looking over his shoulder once in a while as if expecting to see some barnacle-encrusted, starfish-faced sailor-gone-postal with a lethal shiver about to attack him—always fidgeting, unable to sit in one place for very long. Right now seemed to be the first time since that he had been able to sit in peace, staring exhaustedly into space.

"Right then," the lass said after a long time, shaking herself from her daydreams. "How are we going to find out where the next manifestation is? I haven't had any dreams, like with self-confidence, and reading the stones and the claws is really not reliable."

"Haf ya recover all ya energy?"

"As much as I am aware of."

"Den I will show ya. Come." The two rose and followed her out. She led them to the table, where a sort of narrow wooden reclining chair had been set up.

"When did this get here?" James asked with surprise. Tia Dalma gave him a look. "Right. I keep forgetting not to be informed."

"If is important, you'll know. Now listen, chil'. De way we find oot where is t'ru de Yume (yoo-meh) process. De symbol be writ on ya brow. Ya say de incantashun an' ya fall to sleep, and ya dream. De dream show de answer." James and Ames exchanged excited, relieved expressions. "But be warn'," Teacher went on. "De ritual ver' stressful, an' take de mind to 'noder Realm—but wit'oot de body. Dis separachun be dengerous ya menta' healt'."

"I'll do it," James volunteered after a few moments' silent debate with his aunt.

"No. It should be me. I don't want you to risk your sanity for mine what's nonexistent."

"Insanity—in its _reality_, mind you—is a very scary thing that I _cannot_ let you experience. Besides, you'll need a sharp mind to maintain your magic. I am doing it." And to punctuate his point, he sat on the wooden recliner. The chair was very thin—thinner than he was—but years in a hammock prepare a man for these things, and he easily kept his balance where the girl may have fallen. Without giving the lass a chance to protest, he leaned forward to receive the symbol.

Tia Dalma dipped a fine brush in red-black paint, and proceeded to write the Chinese character for dream, 夢, on his forehead. When finished, she sealed the magic with a gentle kiss, her lips pressed lightly against the symbol. As if in response, the lines tightened against his brow, biting into his flesh. The pupils of his eyes shrank with alarm and anticipation. "Relass, commadore," she said to him with a hint of gentle laughter in her voice, lightly pushing him back to lie down.

"Well," he managed nervously, "see you on the other side, I suppose."

Tia Dalma murmured the incantation in Chinese—or perhaps Japanese or Korean; the lass was as ignorant as most and knew not the difference—in a hushed whisper—like the voice of a spirit floating on the zephyr. In the ensuing silence, she leaned over him, perhaps invading his bubble, though he did not protest, and closed his eyes with her fingers in what might be considered a tender manner. Or perhaps poor Amy was simply being paranoid. Regardless, she was upset by it. With another tender touch, she rested her hand momentarily on his forehead, where the symbol burned, and he was instantly asleep. A quill was placed in his unconscious grip, and left to rest on a piece of parchment on the table beside him. Ames blinked in confusion, wondering what purpose it could possibly serve.

Several minutes passed, and the subtle twitches of muscles, which the lass had observed in the Warriors realm, became noticeable. He was dreaming. It had begun.

His expression was focused, brow furrowed, the yume symbol glowing a deep red. The general twitches of his muscles grew into more spasmodic movements; his hand was forced over the parchment, the quill making its marks as per. Soon, the spasms became violent convulsions, remarkably similar in appearance to a seizure. The lass cried out in fearful alarm, unable to look away. However, Tia Dalma did nothing. The quill flew across the page, ragged strokes beginning to connect and take shape.

Just as Amy thought he was about to swallow his own tongue—for he was beginning to make a dreadful choking sound—Teacher calmly reached out and tapped the 夢. He bolted upright, eyes flying open and emerald with excitement. His shoulders shook, and tremors ran through him as he panted hard, breathing ragged and uneven. Amy started forward to comfort him, but as soon as she was within range, a hand darted out and closed around her throat. "J...J... ..James?" Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head to look at her. She met his gaze, and her blood ran cold when she discovered a wild look in his eyes, unpredictable, the likes of which she had never seen.

His grip suddenly tightened, but Tia Dalma grasped his arm and pulled the lass away. "Him might lash oot fa' na' if ya get t'close. Give 'im time ta recova', an' him may regain him sanity."

"May?!" the lass repeated in panic. Teacher, however, made no reply, only smiled with a knowing glint in her eyes and nodded toward James. His breathing had begun to come more easily, and his shoulders still heaved. And though it pained the lass to see him in such a state, yearning to throw her arms around him and make sure he was all right, she could see that he was calming.

A hand went to his head, and he blinked his eyes open, where they had been squeezed shut, looking around the room in confusion. "Where am I?" he asked hoarsely. His gaze, still an icy green with the excitement, fell on the two women, and both sides stared at one another for several long moments before he seemed to recognize them. He gave them a weak, though triumphant smile and murmured, "It was beautiful." He slowly rose from the chair to observe the marks on the parchment. Ames hesitantly approached, until she was beside him, within view of the picture. "Since when did quills have multi-coloured ink?" she heard him muttering to himself.

"Well? What is de picsha of?"

"It... it's a lamp post," he announced incredulously.

"No," the lass corrected, plucking up the parchment. "Much more better. It is a _drawring_ of a lamp post."

James scoffed. "Oh don't tell me you think you know where it is. How could you _possibly_ know where that specific lamp post is? Wot's that all around it, anyway? Looks to be some sort of frame."

"Actually, dear boy, it is the interior of a rather ornate wardrobe. See how the doors are opened toward us?"

"All right, I'll give you that. But I don't understand the connection."

"You know, you're a really good artist," she commented divergently.

"Yeah, when I'm having a seizure," he replied, before hastily getting back on-subject. "Ehem. I mean, really! A lamp post in the middle of the woods? That could be anywhere!"

"But a lamp post that hasn't any paths leading to it?"

Pause.

"Well it's in a clearing."

The lass laughed. "James: one, Amy: zip. But that's aboot to change. How many places specifically have," and here she took a deep, preparatory breath, "a-lamp-post-in-a-clearing-in-a-forest-in-the-middle-of-winter-with-snow-everywhere-and-the-whole-place-is-inside-of-a-wardrobe?"

James pursed his lips in thought, unable to answer, and glared half-heartedly at her as she gloated. "All right then, All-Knowing-One, where is it?"

She raised her finger with a grin, all too happy to answer, when an apostrophe hit her, and lightning struck her brain. An epiphany suddenly bloomed on her. She turned to the mystic. "Teacher, can you tell me something?"

"I can tell you losta t'ings, chil'."

"Can you tell me, then, why all of Jack's emotions are ended up in worlds I am intimately familiar with?"

Tia smiled, as though she had been waiting a long time for the girl to ask. "Dat Eohippus fruit long ago—'t bound'd y'bot' t'gedda. Ya two are link."

A moment of reflective thought passed. "But... But if that's true, then why have none of his forms shown up in _my_ world?"

The woman considered her for a few seconds, sage gaze holding answers to questions one could never conceive. "Dat, chil', is because you a' more connect wit' oder realms dan ya own. Ya alweys t'inking of anoda' place. Ya heart is neva wit' you d'ere."

The lass's brows came together in confusion as she contemplated Tia's meaning. How could she not be connected with the realm where she had been born and raised? Could it have anything to do with the pending Dimension Convention (as she had nicknamed the Collision)?—would it speed it up or slow it down? ... ... Was it normal? She couldn't find an answer to any of these; could only respond to one question with another. "Where?" James finally asked, gently interrupting her circuitous tangent of thought. "Where must we go?"

She turned to him, blinking away the deepness of thought. "Put your armor on, James. We're headed to Narnia."

———————————

The two appeared in what James perceived to be a room of some sort. "I do not see a lamp post, pet." In fact, he couldn't see anything at all. It was black as pitch.

"Spare Oom," the lass whispered, silently stalking forward. "Follow me." He heard the doors of a wardrobe open, and a small hand tugging at his arm. He followed cautiously, and climbed into the ornate cabinet.

"Are these coats?" he asked softly—as it was the middle of the night, they both felt the need to whisper—feeling their fur brushing against him.

"Well it _is_ a wardrobe, after all." And it seemed as though that were all it was, for when they reached the back, they did not meet the wood they expected, but only the wood of the wardrobe. "Oh no."

They emerged, confused and disheartened. "Well, what do we do now?"

The lass didn't reply. She kneeled before the wardrobe, folding her hands and closing her eyes. "Please, Aslan," she whispered. "All we need is a chance."

"What—Amy, who are you talking to—?"

She opened the wardrobe again and crept inside. There were a few moments of silence before he heard her excited voice. "Come on!"

"We were just in there a moment ago," he reasoned as he climbed in after her. "What can have changed?"

"Come on, come on," her excited voice urged him from what sounded like a good distance away.

He hastened forward, pushing through the furs until... "Ouch—these aren't coats." Something had pricked him. Another something, invisible in the dark, caught his foot, and in his haste he tripped, bursting through several branches—yes, branches!—and faceplanted, right into something that glittered a dazzling white in the moonlight. With a grunt, he picked himself up, shaking the snow from his armor and wiping it off his muzzle. Muzzle? Wait... "Amy?" he called apprehensively, feeling positively not normal. He spied her some distance away, trotting briskly up what appeared to be a path through the trees. "Wait up!" He stumbled to his feet and took off after her. "Amy, there's something I don't—."

"It's this way, come on!" He raced after her, gaining some ground, before she suddenly turned and disappeared. He skidded to a halt there, and realized that the path made a sharp turn. His eyes sought out her tracks and followed them to their source, which now stood in a small clearing, staring up at a lamp post, which was lit and set all the snow around it in a warm, golden glow. He slowly approached her, preparing himself for an explosion.

He got down on one knee behind her, so as to be at her level, and gently tapped her on the shoulder. "Amy..."

"What, J—Oh my God!" she cried in surprise. She had not been expecting to meet the face of a lion upon turning around.

There was James, a lithe, fit, anthropomorphic lion with...out any mane. His armor had been altered to a lighter, Narnian style. His hands were very pawlike—or perhaps his paws were handlike—and a cougarish tail curled around him as he gazed at her with intensely green eyes. "Is it that bad?"

"No way! You're fuzzy!" Her voice took on a Stitch-ish tone. "'Also cute—**and fluffy!**" Pause. "You're also _huge_. What are you again?"

"Lord knows," he said with a shake of his head. "And I think it is more that you have become smaller than that I am big. Pet."

She looked down at herself. "Holy shnikeys, I'm three feet tall!"

Her hair was a deep, dark, rich shade of green, and fell just below her shoulder blades. Her eyes were a similar shade. Her eyebrows and nose had a nobleness about them, and her ears were pointed, giving her face an elegant, mysterious, Tolkien elf-like appearance. Her clothes matched the lattest as well, a sword at her hip, and a bow and quiver slung across her back. Her skin had a rich golden tan to it. "New question: what am _I?_"

James laughed, revealing rows of sharp teeth. "All right, so _why_ are we like this?"

She sat down on his boot, a finger going to her chin in thought. The answer soon came to her. "That's it; you see all this snow and ice? This winter has lasted a hundred years, due to the power of the White Bi—...that is to say, the White Witch. She calls herself the Queen of Narnia, but that is far from the truth. But there is a prophecy that two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve would come to vanquish her. Two boys and two girls. Humans. Now, at the moment, there are no humans native to Narnia. The only ones here are four siblings who came through the wardrobe. They are the heroes long awaited. So there cannot be any other humans here. That's why we're like this." She rose to her feet and looked around her with a wistful smile. "I've always wanted to come here, you know? Thank you, Aslan!"

"Aslan—that's Turkish for Lion, isn't it," James muttered.

There was a sudden rustling in the bushes, startling them both—poor James's tail puffed out to an embarrassing girth—and they drew their weapons. "Traitorous trees!" she hissed, baring teeth that included canines definitely not human. "They have heard us speaking of Aslan and must be sending for a means of out arrest!"

"Who would arrest _us_?"

"Maugrim," she growled. "And the other werewolves." James paled at this (or would have, were he human).

Suddenly, a specific bush trembled something terrible, and as the two approached it, cautious and with swords at the ready, out jumped...

* * *

That's right, me leaving it there. And it as a short chapter, too. Ah well. Already typing up the chapter following (can you believe it's about to be 25? Wow!) And guess what! I actually edited! Woot!

What do you think is after these two? Kindly review on your way out. Thankee.


	25. Fortitude's Last Berth

All right, so this took me a lot longer than I expected, to type up. Ah well, at least it's been only a week (and then held back for a few more days so that there's no great gap between this and my next chapter...which as of yet, I haven't begun...eheheh...) Ah well.

Only five reviews? That smarts... Oh well, thanks to ye who did!

For those of you who guessed what was in the bushes**: YOU WERE ALL WRONG! MUAHAHA!!**

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Feline!James? 'Knowing me?' Who knows me? I don't know me; surely you don't either! MUAHAHA! (Wow, I'm in a real mood for the eebil laugh today, can you tell?)

**Authoressinhiding:** At your guesses: No, no, what cardinal?, no, and huh? Now why would William Mosely be in Narnia? I mean, Peter Pevensie is there—although he's a bit busy at the moment—but not William Mosely. Is he your new Orly—like Jack Davenport is my new Johnny? Eheheh...

**RespectTheSporks:** Well, don't tell _me_ you're impatient—else I'll be tempted to make you wait even _longer_ 'tween updates! Muahaha. Ha.

**Inwë:** I cannot wait to see Prince Caspian. I just reread the book over the summer, too. Wootwoot. And -gasp- a new project? Can't wait, mate. Can't wait. :D

**Disclaimer****: Jerry Bruckheimer: -duct taped to a chair- Let me out of here! Get my lawyer! Get my CSI actors! Get my mommy!  
****Authoress: Ehh...no, no, and a-no. How about a psychologist? I'll be sure to hire one that'll give you a mind to hand over the Pirates rights. Yeah. XP**

**Chapter Twenty-Five** (holycrap)**: Happened; Happening**

A fox leapt out to meet them, sniffing curiously. "Why, it's a fox," the lass announced. "How do you do?"

"Amy, you do realize you are talking to a fox," James informed her.

"Do you speak?" she asked it. It cocked its head, looking up at her with a foxy grin as it panted. "No answer."

"You say this as though you were expecting one."

"I was. We have just found another manifestation. Come along." And she proceeded to walk calmly away from the beast.

"What—Amy, what are you—?"

"Walk. Now."

"Amy, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded as he caught up with her.

"If we want to find out which emotion it is, I suggest we find out how it will react—_don't_ look over your shoulder, soldier."

He snapped his head to face front. "And just _how_, may I ask, do you know it is Jack?"

"Oh, come on. A fox that doesn't talk?"

"As opposed to one that _does?"_ he countered.

"In Narnia? _All_ the animals talk in Narnia. One that does not is an oddity. We are looking for oddities, are we not?" She stopped walking and suddenly whirled around to find that the fox had been following them. "Seems to trust us, I suppose. If _that_ isn't a telltale sign, then I don't know what is." She set down her pack and weapons and leaned against the lamp post. "We should probably rest now. It's the middle of the night. It might be warmer by morning, but let's get a fire going. Wh–hey!" The fox had been sniffing and batting at the points of her arrows. She swatted him away and swiped the quiver out of reach. "Curiosity already killed the cat and salted the snail. Do you want it to flambé the fox, too?" She scratched his head playfully. "Wait... curiosity. You're Jack's Curiosity, aren't you?"

"A fox for Cutiosity. Rather fitting, I might suppose. Er...pet...there are bound to be more foxes in Narnia than just this one. How will we know which he is?"

The little canine, who had since stuck his head inside the girl's pack, now pulled out a strip of reddish leather. "Clever little beastie," she chuckled, buckling it around his neck to act as a collar.

"Yes, foxes _are_ rather clever animals—although I daresay that this one seems more so than usual."

"Hmm," she nodded. "Then Cleverness, too. Jack _is_ an awful clever fellow, inne. Clever as a fox. Sly as a fox. They're synonyms, aren't they?"

James got a fire going, and they sat around it. "Shall we leave in the morning, then?"

"And without a chance to explore?"

"Well in case you haven't noticed, we're on a short time constraint. We need to get the fox back to Jack, and we need to hurry before the men in black discover we are here, or before this realm begins to tilt toward others."

"All the time we shall ever spend here will add up to be only a moment outside of here." James looked at her sternly—a look that had all the more effect on the magnificent lion's face that was now his. "Can't we at least stay _one_ day?"

He glared at her thoughtfully, before sighing frustratedly. "One. One day." She grinned victoriously. "But then it's back home."

"Deal." They shook on it—after which the lass exclaimed at his paws and compared them in size to her tiny hands. At length, they curled up for the night, in a cozy ball in one another's arms for added warmth, and slept peacefully and without disturbance until dawn—although dear James had kept himself up half the night, warily on the lookout for danger.

The next morning, they were up in a snap, promptly (and thoroughly, mind you) dousing the fire and collecting their belongings. Making sure that Curiosity was still with them—which he was, loyal chap—they set off to explore. Naturally, the girl (as we shall call her until we may learn what she has become) nudged their expedition east, toward the Great River and the Rock Bridge, in the hopes that they might soon meet the meadows of the camp waiting by the Stone Table.

They strode through the wood, taking note of how come trees were beginning to blossom, ad the icicles were quickly shrinking. "Winter is almost over, isn't it?" James asked thoughtfully.

"Yes. The presence of the human children has brought hope to Narnia, and that is beginning to weaken the witch's power."

"You're beginning to talk like a Narnian, aren't you?"

"What?—Don't be absurd!"

He laughed heartily. "Absurd? Don't think I have ever heard that from you before. And 'the presence of the human children'? You speak of them as though they are a different species than you."

"But they are—."

"Yes, yes, but I mean as though you've never _been_ human."

"I'm being a narrator. It's supposed to be that way, isn't it?"

"Whatever you say, pet." They set up in a small clearing, where most of the snow had melted away and much of the area was lush and green. Lunch was prepared—just some fruit and fish caught in a stream they had crossed earlier—and they tucked in. "But you know," he said thoughtfully, cooking the pavenders, "even with the winter nearing an end, we have seen a rather small semblance of inhabitants, haven't we? I mean, aside from these trees and our fox, the only other life we have met were these fish." He paused to tear a chunk off the filet of one of the raw fish with his teeth.

"Er...you know you haven't cooked that yet, right?"

He gave her a please-don't-laugh-at-me smile. "I know. I've preferred raw fish to cooked for years—since I became captain of the _Dauntless_, I suppose. I'm not entirely certain why, but it probably has something to do with that time I was stranded without provision." His eyes grew distant for a moment. "But that was a long, _long_ time ago."

They ate in silence for a few moments. "Tell me about it," she said after a while. "Will you? I'd like to hear it."

He stared at her with a contemplating expression for several moments. "As you might have figured, I was still a lieutenant. First Leftenant to Captain Robert Greenleaf on the schooner _HMS Fortitude_. We were on our way back to Port Royal when a storm struck us. A hurricane, actually. A violent, deadly tempest that tossed us around like a plaything. Well, as you can imagine, the _Fortitude_ could not hold her own against the storm's sheer force. We all knew her limits. However, Captain Greenleaf did not see the situation as hopeless. If he had, we all would have stayed aboard and fought Nature until it killed us. No. He ordered that we all stow ourselves in the life boats, and pack as many provisions as could be salvaged. We were able to save enough to last us the twelve day voyage to the nearest port.

"However, enough food and ammunition for such a time tends to take up a lot of space, and also tends to sustain a great amount of weight. The boats rode low on the waves. But they took up so much space and draft that one of us would have to stay behind." Their minds connected, and they were drawn into the memory.

"It's either one man or many!" a sailor was shouting over the din of the storm. "Someone must volunteer to stay."

"Captain," a younger James said—and if one could see past the scars on his face which he had given himself, he really did look very young. "Do let's give it time and see how much we can stress the boats."

"Leftenant, we cannot spare the time," the captain replied, turning and looking him in the eye. He had a slightly pompous and incompetent air about him, but one could see his wisdom and dedication and experience as clearly as if it were written on his wind-burned face.

"_Holy crap—it's Gordy the Janitor!"_ Ames realized. The memory ran on unaffected.

"Captain," Norrington insisted, evenly meeting his gaze. Something silently passed between them, and Ames was sure that one or the other would choose to remain.

With a resigned sigh, Captain Greenleaf muttered, "Get in the boats." No one moved. "You heard him—everyone into the boats!"

"If one stays behind, we all stay behind," one sailor declared.

"Never leave a man behind!"

"We don't live forever, boys!"

"You all must survive so that you can continue to help people like the citizens of Bouton."

"_Yes,"_ James murmured in commentary, _"We were on our way back from helping the town of Bouton on St. Lucia recover from a fatal pirate raid."_

Everyone seemed moved by this, and, with shoulders sagging, they turned and piled into the boats. James drew his sword and cut loose the dories as they filled. At last, there was only one more. The captain climbed in, expecting his Leftenant to follow, and see his plan through, that which he had only just suggested. Contrarily, the man drew his sword again, bracing himself against the violent pitch and roll so he could swing and release the dinghy. "What are you doing?!" the captain cried. "You said we would try to fit—."

"That won't work," he interrupted, thunder booming around them. "The dory cannot hold all of us. I am staying behind."

"No, James. You are one of our most valuable men. Think of your future! Think of the success you could be! Let me stay behind instead!"

"No! The men need you more than they need me. They cannot go without a strong leader."

"Leftenant Norrington, get in this boat. That's an order."

"Sorry, sir. Punish me later for insubordination, but right now, duty calls." And as Captain Greenleaf was rising to get out of the boat, James swung his sword, and said boat plummeted into the waves and the foam. The captain looked up at him in acceptance and solemnly saluted. Norrington returned the gesture.

The waves and the currents pushed the boats away. Greenleaf had to cup his hands around his mouth to be heard. "There is an island two points to starboard. It's small, but at least it's shelter." Thunder rolled across the skies again. "We'll come and look for you. We'll come back! You have my word! Prayers be with you!"

The waves had carried them nearly out of sight. "God speed!" James was compelled to cry, leaning over the bulwarks, desperately clinging on. A great swell in the water rose between him and the boats, and when it went down again, they were gone. He was utterly alone to face his doom. He would ride the storm out for as long as possible while the ship held up, then swim to that tiny island and seek refuge.

Hours and hours passed, the tempest relentlessly battering the _Fortitude_ and her only companion, until the little schooner that had survived so much finally sank. James dove from her prow, abandoning his coat, hat, and shoes, and kicked out toward the island, never stopping, no matter how many waves rolled over him or pulled him under.

At long last, half-drowned, he felt the current change, and knew that the water was shallower with land nearby. Lightning flashed, illuminating a great hulking shadow of an island not far off. Fighting the deadly undertow, he finally dragged himself ashore, and collapsed on the beach, coughing up sea water and struggling for breath. But even here he was not safe. The trees—those few that were still standing—were waving wildly, threatening to snap at any moment. He needed to find shelter. Fast.

But it was a smaller island than he had expected. Little more than an acre, and shrinking as the waters rose at a dangerous pace. Just by standing up where he had fallen, he could see to the shore of the other side of his island. If the storm didn't let up soon, the entire island would be swallowed. That being said, it was safest, at least for now, to head inland.

It rained all day. It rained all night. There was no food. There was no god shelter but the leeward side of a small copse. Eventually, in the flashes of lightning, he began to see debris from what was left of the _Fortitude_ floating ashore. Wasting little time, he gathered planks and pieces of decks of the sturdy wood and, in the relentless, driving rain, one arm useless due to a painful injury he had sustained whilst swimming through the storm, built a lean-to against his sheltered copse.

At last, when it was finished, he collapsed exhaustedly under its cover, and fell into a fitful sleep, waking every few minutes in alarm. He had, by now, been awake for two or three nights without food or rest. Even the pitiful snatches of sleep he was getting now were like luxuries.

The rain continued for several days more, during which James had sustained himself on meager helpings of stems and roots from certain plants. He had also diagnosed the horrible wrenching his shoulder had sustained as dislocation, (_"Geez, you and that shoulder_," Amy commented, it as the same shoulder he had just injured) and had taken the necessary steps for replacing it and recovering, even putting it into a sling he had fashioned from shreds of shroud that had washed ashore.

At one point, the water rose so high that he had to abandon his shelter for higher ground—in the form of a small plateau that rose several feet, only a foot or so below the tops of the trees. The incline was jagged and slippery, and dangerous to climb in bad weather with no shoes and only one arm. ... Yeah.

The water continued to rise for days more, but thankfully, just as it was beginning to lap at the 'shores' of his even tinier island, the storm began to move off. The waves rapidly began to recede, and within another few days, he was able to climb back to the ground. But the flood had killed all his supply of food. The handful of birds that stopped by had fled from the tempest—and he would have no means of catching them, anyway, were they to return.

However, the great storm moved off quickly, was gone overnight, and he found himself in the bright light of the sun—never had he been so happy to see it—standing up to his waist in the clear, glittering water of a small cove on his island, small fish darting between and around his legs. It had been ten days since the _Fortitude_ had wrecked. Ten days he had gone without decent food or a good night's sleep. Now there was no food left at all on the island—thus the reason he now stood in the shallows, letting the wildlife acclimate to his presence. As last, a decent-sized fish swam within range—it was really only about the length of his hand, but I say 'decent'-sized, because it was by far the largest fish that had swum so near, and the first that was eatable—and he pounced, his hands darting into the water and pulling it out. He quickly dispatched it with his knife—the only thing he had left—before waiting to catch others. It was a good thing his shoulder had mostly recovered by now, else he would not have been able to catch anything.

He stayed to catch two more, then returned to shore. After several minutes' searching, he found that the storm had left absolutely nothing dry that he might use to light a fire and cook his meal. Well, one can imagine that he was by now very desperate for food, and so, despairing little, he took his knife and gutted the fish, and at last, gratefully tucked in.

At first he hadn't liked it very much; it tasted strange, and its texture, different than when cooked, was slimy and made him feel ill. Still, as it was his only food, he was forced to tolerate it; beggars can't be choosers. Over the course of several days, the island, Fortitude's Last Berth, as James had begun to call it, dried little, and everything he checked was still not dry enough to spark. Where was the flint when he needed it most? His diet remained the same, consisting mainly of raw fish and the occasional snail or shellfish.

Rain came—at least once a week (although the days all looked alike, and so the passage of time blurred) and lasted for at least part of a day, leaving the island damp and slow to dry, never supplying fuel for a signal fire. Eventually, he moved his shelter to the exposed area atop the little plateau (which was about a square rod in area), toiling about nonstop until he had a sturdy little hit large enough to lie down in, and perhaps even store food. It held up against the weather, and stayed dry within. And, more importantly, it provided him an escape from the high tides which made the groung soggy and uncomfortable. He put a layer of sand on the floor, for comfort, and began to pile wood inside to dry.

He carved several crude bowls which he set out as a means to catch the rain—his only source of water. Now that all of this was complete, he began to go about the business of surviving with a much less bleak outlook. What added to his hope was the success of making a fire—at last!—and this he kept burning, day and night, moving it inside in the times of bad weather, never letting it go out.

The fire served not only as a small signal fire, but as a means to expand his diet. As last, after a month of nothing but sushi, he could now cook and eat so many more types of shellfish than before. And, though clumsily at first, James had trained himself to move silently, slinking up on a bird that had wandered to the ground and catching it in his bare hands. One cannot imagine what a joy is was to taste fowl again. However, even with all of this, he still ate his fish raw. It had grown on him, one might say.

Well, naturally the birds became wise to him and never lighted on the ground for more than a few moments whenever he was around. However, not to be discouraged now, he saw this as an opportunity to work on his aim—throwing the knife, that is. By the end of his second month, he could hit a bird out of mid air.

However, being that two months had passed, he began to despair of ever being found. (Found, not rescued, for his plight was not one that he would not be able to survive.) He began to broaden his signal fire, until it was huge and hot. The rain, never heavy enough, could not put it out.

As his third month was drawing to an end, he hacked at a tree until it fell, dragged it up to his plateau, and waited for it to dry (as it was a tree, he supposed it would be dry quickly.) He painted streaks of oil—from the occasional oil lamp had washed ashore—along the length of its trunk and stood it up straight. Then, he took his signal fire ad set it up around the tree's base. Flames shot up the tree, and soon, a column of fire burned furiously from the highest point on the island. Night fell, and the beacon burned radiantly, to be seen for leagues and leagues around.

He read the skies and the weather as best he could, estimating how long it would be before wind and rain would extinguish his only means of communication with the outside world. However, as one can imagine—if one thinks logically—his efforts were not in vain. As the column of flame appeared on the horizon, a magnificent ship suddenly altered its course and sailed straight for it.

At long last, white sails appeared on the horizon. By the next morning, the ship had anchored not far off, and boats were rowing toward the tiny island. The ship, the sloop-of-war, _Kensington_, was a proud member of His Majesty's Royal Navy, so James observed, watching the sailors idly, unwilling to appear desperate and wild in the eyes of these gentlemen. That countenance did not change, even when he saw who was at the head of the expedition. As the boats were hauled ashore, he watched indifferently from where he stood several rods up-shore.

The party approached him, Captain Greenleaf in the lead and hastening. "Leftenant Norrington, is that you? I hardly recognize you with a beard." James looked up at him, and the look in his eyes was shocking. He looked wild and unpredictable—savage, even. Hungry and desperate, perhaps. There was no answer. The captain began to fear that his best lieutenant had gone mute or mad. "Are you all right, James?" An emotionless nod yes. "Are you hungry?" He shook his head slowly, appearing detached from the conversation as he looked out to sea, perhaps observing the _Kensington_. A long silence followed before Greenleaf muttered, "Okay, men, give us some air for a while. So many people after three months without talking is bound to be overwhelming." The men disbanded, several heading inland toward the plateau. Another silence followed.

"Is...Is this the new _Fortitude_, then?" James asked softly, voice hoarse from lack of use.

"Nothing can replace my _Fortitude_," he sighed, "but the Admiral seems to want to try."

Norrington looked down. "I apologize for my lack of composure and courtesy, Captain. It is very odd to speak to another person again, after having prepared myself to never meet another soul again."

"No worries, lad. One might expect that." The other man gave him a small smile. "How are you?" he asked at length.

James pondered his answer for a few moments, before replying, "Ready to go home."

"Of course. Do you have anything you wish to bring with you?"

James pointed at something behind the captain. The crew were carrying his entire hut—the whole little wooden house—above their heads, toward the ship. "If I did...I am sure they have covered everything..."

The captain laughed. "Well, I suppose we shouldn't dally. I'll see you on the ship in a bit." He turned to walk away.

"Rob... Thanks for coming back for me."

"They couldn't have kept me if they tried." And, jovially clapping his leftenant on the shoulder, he strode off.

Norrington sighed and looked at his island. _His_ island. A place that, even while wretched and uncomfortable, had offered him shelter and become his home. Any other man would have been glad to be rid of it, but James, he was sorry to bid farewell. "Are you well, James?" the captain asked him as they sailed away, spotting the lieutenant staring wistfully back at the tiny island.

"I am fine. I was just recalling my level of contentment in my solitude." Greenleaf turned his head sharply to look at him. "I mean... no parties or ceremonies or social gatherings... No mask to wear, nor appearance to maintain, nor reputation to polish. I didn't have to have good manners or uphold propriety. I didn't have to be perfect." This last remark had the most weight to it. "It was just me and my island."

There was an uneasily thoughtful silence as the island continued to shrink. "I'm sorry," Greenleaf murmured at length. "I had no idea it was such a small isle."

James chuckled. "It _did_ grow rather soggy at high tide." This met hearty laughter, followed by another thoughtful silence.

"James, it's not going to be just-you-and-your-island anymore, is it?" the captain asked uneasily.

"No," he replied promptly, resolutely. "Not unless one were to consider my comrades to be my island—to give me shelter in a storm, and help me survive, and to keep me from floating away."

"Good. Expect a promotion upon our return. The _Dauntless_ is waiting for a captain."

James turned to him in surprise. "But—the _Dauntless _is—how?"

"I had a conversation or three with the Admiral. Told him about how you volunteered to stay behind while everyone else fled for safety—myself included. He said that any man that is so dedicated to his men that he is willing o give up anything to ensure their safety in such a situation deserved reward, and that, were you ever found, that he would name you captain of his best ship of the line as soon as you set foot ashore."

"That is amazing. Thank you, sir."

"What's _amazing_ is that you survived."

"I learned a lot of things that helped—and you know, some may come in handy some day in the Navy."

"Yeah? Like what?" In one swift motion, James pulled his knife out and hurled it. It went twirling through the air, and there was a squawk, and one of the birds that had been circling the mizzenmast fell to the deck dead, the blade embedded in its ribcage. "Amazing," Greenleaf muttered. After a moment, he added, "You sure you're not hungry?"

"I think I may be now, after all the excitement. The crew—and Theodore, especially—seemed very enthusiastic to have me among them. Do you have any fish? Preferably raw?" The captain shot him an odd look, and the memory faded.

"Tsugoi," was the girl's awed response. "So how was the ride home? Smooth sailing?"

"The sailing was smooth. The cat' was not." She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "For disobeying him and scaring him so badly, the captain made sure I received a sound lashing; with the cat of nine tails."

"Ouch! That's crazy!"

"Insubordination, love. It merits punishment in the Navy."

They returned to their neglected lunches. "...So was that the last of the island?"

"Well, I made sure to put it on a map to honour its services to myself, but I never returned. And the little hit, made from wood of the _Fortitude_, was made into a desk, which sits to this day in the home of Robert Greenleaf."

"It's a really cool story."

James opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated. "Do you know what I just noticed when reliving that time?"

"What's that?"

"Even on a minuscule, one-acre island, there was still more wildlife that there is here."

It was as he was finishing this statement that there was a snarl nearby. They both leapt to their feet and listened, before stalking to the bushes and looking through. A handful of huge gray wolves were sniffing desperately around the woods not far off. "We've lost the scent," one said to the lead wolf.

"The witch won't tolerate slackers," Maugrim growled. "Find him, or you'll take his punishment instead."

"Who are they looking for?" James whispered to the lass.

"A fox who helped the four kids I was telling you about. Wait—no!" Curiosity was sniffing curiously at the wolves, and on a curious impulse, had stepped through the bushes toward the lupines. "Get back here," she hissed.

The fox turned to look at her pleadingly—but the wolves had already noticed him. The fox, realizing the danger, sprinted back to hide between her legs, and the wolves gave chase, leaping into the clearing. They circled the trio, teeth bared. "Retrieve the fox," Maugrim ordered. "Bring him to the Witch. He's the one who led us astray." Another wolf snatched up the fox—who yelped in alarm—and immediately dashed off.

"What—wait! That's the wrong fox! The one you're looking for is rallying troops for Aslan by the Western Wood," Ames cried. "This one cannot even talk."

"Then regardless, he is not an ally of the Witch. We'll see what _she_ decides. As for you, sprite, you would do well to join your kindred in the Witch's army. You are late for preparations."

"And _you_ are wasting time talking to us," James cut in. Several of the wolves withdrew at the sight of him, tails curling between their legs.

"Keep out of this, stranger," Maugrim snapped with a snarl. He barked to his pack and they took off into the trees.

Silence fell for a few moments. "Well are you happy now?" Ames snapped. "_There_'s your wildlife."

"This is your fault."

"Mine!"

"If we had just left when I suggested instead of playing around here, the fox's life would not be threatened. Do you have any idea how this could affect Jack?"

"Oh don't go blaming me—You're the one who agreed to let us stay."

"Not like I had any choice. _You're _the only one who can teleport us back anyway."

"I would have taken us back if you had insisted!"

"Enough. As much as I would love to continue this argument, now is not the time." He sighed in self retribution. "Here we are, a pair of skilled fighters, and we did nothing."

"We were outnumbered five-to-one. There was nothing we could do."

"There were only six—."

"And you _know_ you would have had to fight five of them. As far as I'm concerned, I can only take on one opponent at a time."

James sighed frustratedly. "Well, 'sprite', what do we do now? We need to get him back."

"We've got one hope now." She turned to face the Eastern Sea, sparkling on the horizon. "Aslan."

* * *

And that's it. Haven't even _begun_ on the next chapter, but worry not! I shan't be forever. I'll probably start once I finish chapter eight for Fears Unknown. Oh now don't look so down—I'm actually most of the way through that. No more Fears hiatus—at least not for the next chapter or two! Eheheh...

Apologies for Captain Greenleaf's name. No, it has nothing to do with Legolas (sorry, Aih). Actually, I was pondering what to name him, and we drove past a sign that said 'Law offices of Edward W. Greenleaf.' Well yeah. Heehee.

REVIEW! I COMMAND YOU! -pokepoke- Please?


	26. Arrival & a Surprise Flute Improvisation

Wow. So I guess people don't really like this story anymore. What's wrong with it? Is it too boring? Is it not piratey enough? I won't know how to make it any better if no one will tell me what's wrong.

**Speaking of reviewing issues... Hey. Hey you. Yeah you. Reader #159. Go read TheDreamChild's stories. They're actually really good, but only like four people total are reviewing. Her writing bests mine, so I really don't understand why so few are taking interest. Go check it out, hey? And since I take so dang long to update, you can satiate yourselves with her work too.**

All right, all right. So I actually have had this chapter done for a _while_, but I didn't really feel like typing it up. Ah well. Here it is now.

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Actually, I don't watch CSI. All I know is that Jerry is the series producer.

**Captain Rika Kisuktai:** Making him more catty with every chapter? Me? How absurd. -shifty eyes- Thinking up things about James that could happen? Really? Like what?

**Disclaimer** Well...Jerry got out. So I own nothing again. -sniffle-

**A Revision:** I recall a chapter in which Tia Dalma explains that the evil guys are after life. Well, it was a poor and rushed attempt at a decent plotline, and now that I think back in its stupidity, I have decided to change it. They are not after life. They are after the energy that holds the Realms separate from one another. However, if they harness such an energy, the Realms will collide and few would survive. _That_ is what Ames and James are trying to stop from happening (eventually). All right? All better? Good. I may go back and actually write it into that chapter. Maybe. If I'm not too lazy. Zzz...

**Chapter Twenty-Six:** **The Pride of the Prejudiced**

For the next few days, they trekked across the land. They traversed through woods and meadows, the land growing greener and greener. They scaled the Rock Bridge, and paused to look out over Narnia. Looking back, they could see the Western Wood, whence they came, a shadow on the horizon. Looking ahead to the east, they could see the castle Cair Paravel and the Eastern Sea, near their destination.

The thunder of the falls on the Great River, now no longer frozen, grew near, and they emerged into a small clearing overlooking said falls. James padded forward on all fours (as he did on occasion, for it felt just as natural to move as such) and leaned over the edge to watch the river. "I'm sorry, my friend," his ear flicked back as the sprite spoke, and he turned to see her standing beside a stone fox, her hand on his head. "Your efforts were not in vain. Help will come soon." He moved back to crouch beside her, tail curling around him. "He's the other fox—the one who helped the Pevensies, and who Maugrim and his wolves were really after."

"And you say that he will yet survive?" Returning a person from stone seemed to lie beyond possibility.

"Aslan will save him."

"You keep saying that. Aslan is just a lion, isn't he?" It was an innocent enough question, so she bit back a curt reply.

"You won't think that when you meet him."

His ears perked at this, but he continued to stare at the fox. After a long, thoughtful silence, he asked, "Where now?"

"We need to cross the river, and then we can follow it for a whole before it turns south."

"All right, but how are we to cross?"

Shrug. "We could always try swimming."

"But you're a terrible swimmer."

"But _you_ aren't. I can brace myself against you if I have to. Look, the river's really not that wide, and I can't be very heavy."

"All right. It is also pretty shallow—or so I take it to be; it appears so. The current is fast, though, and the water cold, so be ready." They scaled the cliffs down to the rocky bank—the lass needed some help since many of the boulders were bigger than she was. "All right, ready? Jump!" They plunged into the water, still icy cold. James surged toward the surface, grasping her arm and hauling her up with him. "Come on!" he roared over the roar. He struck out for the bank, and could have made it in a matter of moments had the sprite's smaller strokes not hindered him. She was holding her own against the current—in fact, she was working _with_ it, swimming at an angle so that it propelled her toward the shore.

They did not anticipate the deep trench and dangerous undertow that ran down the river's middle. When they reached it, the deadly current took hold of the girl's tiny, light form, and she was pulled under with a yell of surprise. "Amy!" James dove under, but the water was so stirred up that he couldn't see a thing.

He struggled back to the surface, fighting the undertow, looking frantically down river for and sign of her; but she was nowhere to be seen. He was about to swim after her when she shouted, "James, I'm over here!"

He looked to see her standing on the shore not far down river, jumping and waving her arms. Breathing a sigh of relief, he struck out toward her, and soon was shaking the water from his fur on the bank, impulsively licking his paws and drying his face with them. (And after realizing he was doing this, he embarrassedly dropped his hands to his sides.) "Are you all right?"

She coughed a few times. "I'll be fine. I've just got water up my nose." they smiled at one another in relief and reassurance. She looked forward. "On the bright side, we won't be needing out cloaks anymore." Every tree and plant from here on was greed and alive and in bloom.

They stuffed their cloaks into Norrington's pack. "When did we get packs anyway?" he wondered.

"I dunno. Prob'ly when we got to the Spare Oom. Aslan must have given them to us. He knows we'd need them." She began into the woods.

Her words had James vexed. He stood for a moment in confusion, before realizing her absence and catching up with her. "But how could he have given us anything if we never met him? It was just us and only us when we arrived." She turned and looked up at him with a knowing smile and a wink.

They continued East, through the woods and meadows. The land grew greener and greener as they went, more alive. The occasional bird flitted through the trees above them; at last a sign that they were not alone.

They camped in an emerald clearing very near their destination. A cardinal or two was perched in a tree, keeping an eye on them. "Why do we wait?" James asked as the lass began to set up camp. "It is only midday."

"There's no need to hurry. According to the sequence of the book and the movie, Aslan will not be able to get to the Witch's castle until the day of the war."

"Then Curiosity could die long before we ever get to him."

"We can't go at alone. Not without Aslan. We'd be caught too, and likely turned to stone." James looked at her sharply with an alarmed expression. "Just the same as the fox," she added in a mutter.

"Then is there no hope?!" he cried.

"There's only one way to find out."

"You keep saying that! We _cannot_ just wait around and see. We _cannot_ put our faith in Aslan to do this for us!"

"Do not say such things!" she shouted with an intensity that frightened him, and beyond that, shut him up. "Do not be so quick to judge against him. You don't know him like I do. Has the Navy not taught you patience?"

"Forgive me," he said after a moment's realization. "Let me rephrase my initial question. Why do you want to wait until tomorrow?"

"To give me time to compose myself." He fixed her with a questioning gaze, one ear pricked forward, the other off to one side. "Didn't you hear Maugrim? He said that sprites, like me, were fighting in the Witch's army. I fear Aslan's troops will not readily welcome someone who looks like an enemy."

He stood protectively over her. "Then I shall be ready to fight in your defense. They cannot judge you before you ever have a chance to explain yourself."

Her green eyebrow suddenly quirked. "This coming from the person who just blatantly judged Aslan's ability and reliability on handling out fates when we entrust them to him—him with whom you've not yet been acquainted."

He flicked his ears. "Then we go tomorrow. No later."

——————————

Tomorrow came in a hurry, hardly giving the sprite the chance to do what she had given herself an extra day to do. Before she knew it, she and James were striding side by side toward the entrance to Aslan's camp, all uncertainties masked by a calm confidence. The centaur on lookout—James had to do a double-take—blew into his horn to announce their arrival.

As they strode through the camp, heads turned to stare. Centaurs, fauns, satyrs, leopards, cheetahs, bears, and other assorted creatures, mythical and not, added to James' invisible wonder as he passed them by—although he made a point not to look at them, eyes fixed instead on their destination: the great red tent.

There were two distinct reactions to the strangers. One was awe at the noble appearance of the lion-like James, and the other, unfortunately, was disdain toward the sprite. Three of the four children emerged from their tents to watch (for the fourth had betrayed them and been captured by the Witch).

When they reached the tent, a centaur, Oreius, approached from his post. "You, sprite. What is your purpose here?" he demanded.

She lifted her chin and quoted in her best William Mosely voice (and painfully aware that Peter was watching her), "'We have come to see Aslan.'"

"You have no business with Aslan, sprite. Run back to the Witch's army. You are unwelcome here."

"I told you he couldn't help us," James muttered frustratedly, though audibly.

"Have a little faith, James. Oreius does not control Aslan's decisions. If Aslan wants us to see him, then we shall see him." He gave her a guardedly bemused sidward glance. Why was she so calm? Even now, as troops were throwing insults at her back, she did not flinch.

"Come to spy, have you?" "Traitor." "Scum." "Giving in already?" "Pixie." (Apparently it is insulting to call a sprite a pixie. o.0) "Taken prisoner already? The fighting isn't even started yet." "Groveling for forgiveness, are you?"

"Enough," a deep voice commanded, that was both awesome and gentle at the same time—that could have been heard in all reaches of the camp and yet was hardly more than whispered—and the insults and mockery were silenced. The curtains of the tent quivered, before a huge, magnificent, golden lion stepped out. Everyone, including Amy, bowed in his presence, and James could only stand dumbly, staring in awe, mouth agape. "Who are you both, and what are your reasons for being here?" he asked as they stood again.

"I am Amy. This is James. Our business, I am afraid, is to ask for your help." This set the camp murmuring. "But the details are not necessary for all to hear." The world order must be preserved. "May we speak with you in private, Your Majesty?" she requested modestly.

"They are spies of the Witch's army. We cannot trust them."

"Peace, Oreius." The great lion slowly circled them, stopping before James. "Welcome, brother. You have lion blood running through your veins, and that makes us kin. It is said that lion's blood is held in high respect and nobility. Your trust and loyalty shall not be doubted. And your experience in was will greatly help my soldiers."

James blinked, brow knit in confusion. "Why do you know of my past endeavours?"

Aslan smiled. "Your posture, for one, and your scars."

"Sir, I am in armour, if you have not noticed."

"Your scars are not on your skin. They are in your eyes." James blinked and looked away. Aslan turned to the sprite. He lowered his head so they were nose to nose, stare burning into her, and took a great sniff at her. Tense, endless moments passed by before he suddenly began to laugh. "She had never been in league with the Witch. Her intent all along was to join our side." James looked at her sharply. All she could do was grin innocently up at her nephew and bat her eyes a few times. "Come, I shall speak with the two of you over matters concerning your fox." The great lion turned and went into his tent.

Ames and James followed. "You know," the latter muttered, "I do not recall either of us mentioning any fox."

——————————

"You are well aware of the existence of other Realms," Ames began.

"That is true."

"We both hail from a place far beyond either of these two worlds tethered together. Our friend was Shattered into seven manifestations of his emotions and traits. One of them is here, and has been captured by the White Witch."

"You have brought a great danger to this world," Aslan roared in fury, before instantly calming with understanding and amending, "No. It has come on its own. Your intentions are to capture and remove it to protect this world."

"That's true, but—."

"You are doing it more to save your friend than anything," he finished for her knowingly. "I understand." Their silence was an affirmation. "I will do what I can, but you must let me do it when the time is right. I must ask that you have patience and that you do not attempt to rescue him on your own. You alone are no match for the Witch and her army."

"Then what do you propose we do in the meantime?" It was the first time James had spoken since entering the great scarlet tent, and instead of sounding frustrated as expected, he sounded merely subdued and weary. Ames blinked; perhaps he was at last beginning to understand?

"Lend this army your skills. And hone your own so that you will be ready for battle."

The little sprite's eyes widened in alarm. James pushed his arm in front of her protectively. "We did not come to fight," he declared, a hint of a roar behind his voice. "However," he went on in more reasonable tones, "we would be willing to lend our services and help."

Aslan nodded in acceptance. "That is all I ask. Brave James, I ask you to work with my generals and Peter to plan our attack and strategy."

"I only—."

"You doubt yourself. Do not worry. Tactics at sea are not the only tactics that you know," the great lion assured him with amused undertones. When poor James' jaw dropped, he laughed heartily, a rumble contagious enough to bring a smile to all of Narnia. "You will have to trust me." The mood calmed. "Sprite," he turned to the green-haired lass. "You will learn the art of archery and help to train Susan and Lucy." The lass's face subtly fell. "I understand that you are not fond of many children younger than yourself, but if you are patient and open-minded, you will see her as 'Lucy' instead of as 'child'. Both sisters are intelligent and fast learners. Much like you. I trust your still and your devotion, focus, and ardor will greatly help them."

James could tell that she didn't want to do, but she merely bowed slightly and said, "As you wish, my lord."

He sensed a subtle pride coming from the great cat, and wondered at it. "I thank you," he said to them. "Oreius will show you to your tents."

"Tents?" Ames and James looked at one another. "We'll be separated?"

Aslan laughed again. "It is only for the nights. By day you will see one another often."

"Yeah, but..." They used evening as bonding/comfort time. She sighed, shaking her head, it would only be for while they were here. "Nevermind. Anyway, thank you, Aslan. I had faith that you will be able to help our friend."

"And I thank you for your willingness to help. Good luck, and farewell."

They bowed respectfully and ducked out of the tent. "What was that all about?" James demanded.

"Thewhodidthewhatandthewhynow?" she asked, snapping our of her reverie.

"That Aslan. He—we—it—wh—ugh." He grunted, trying to straighten out his words. "He knew our hearts and our minds and our thoughts even before we spoke them. He knows I was in the Navy and that you possess a fighting prowess that was quick to develop. He knows," he lowered his voice, "that you and I are human and not of this world. It is as if he knows us as well as we do."

"Better, actually. Don't you like him?" She sounded as though this troubled her greatly.

"No, I _do_. _That's_ what I find so strange. Normally I cannot trust a person until I know him better, but this _Aslan_—as soon as I laid eyes on him and heard him speak, I felt the strangest urge to embrace him."

The tiny person let out her breath with a _whoosh_, relieved. "If your gut is telling you to like him, then like him already. Quit being so suspicious all the time."

It was James's turn to sigh, this time in frustrated acquiescence, ears sagging. "Where is that Oreius?"

"Just went into Aslan's tent. I s'pose he'll be out in a minute or so to show us around."

James, in a crouch so as to be at eye level, suddenly grabbed her shoulder. "Shh." His ears swivelled backward to listen, fury burning in his fathomless emerald eyes as he turned his head ever so slightly to look out the corner of his eye at the offenders. Ames, quickly understanding, allowed herself to slip back into her old habit of eavesdropping.

"But how in Narnia can Aslan know that she is not a spy from the Witch's army?" a faun was asking. She was immediately resentful toward him and his tone.

"Nay," a goat-faced satyr replied, "she has a different look about her. Not the bloodred eyes and black hair of the Dark Sprites corrupted by the Witch. She is a normal sprite."

"But the other sprites have chosen neutrality. What could this one want with something her entire race obviously doesn't give a whit about?" James lashed his tail, seething, a muscle tightening in his jaw. "And they _are_ such flighty creatures. What if she were to abandon us at our greatest time of need?"

"The lion-man—let us call him the mion—trusts her. They have obviously been working together a long time. Aslan seems to trust him a great deal already."

"Well, dark sprite or no, I do not think we can trust her. However, we must not take this into our own hands unless necessary. Surely Aslan will see through her guise."

"And we cannot get near her, besides, with that mion always by her side." the gossipers fell to discussing what a strange sight _he_ was, and the two eavesdroppers would have continued to listen in until a new voice spoke.

"You've lost a friend to the Witch, too?" The turned to see Peter, a strapping teenage sandy-blonde, his two sisters standing nearby, Susan's arm round little Lucy's shoulder.

James stood up, looking apologetically at the sprite, and answered in the affirmative. "The wolves mistook him for another and took him before we ever had a chance to fight back."

By their dress, Ames could tell that they had arrived only shortly she and James had.

"Our brother was captured too," Lucy said.

James' ears came up in alarm. "How could that be?"

"He went to her," Peter explained grimly. "He betrayed us."

_A Judas...even among children?_ she heard James think in a strong emotional wave of shock.

Amy, who saw that repeating Edmund's betrayal had begun to upset Lucy, assured her, "He'll be all right."

"How do you know?" Susan asked. She didn't say it rudely, just wondered.

The sprite craned her head upward to meet the gazes of the taller Susan and Peter. "Because he is in Aslan's paws. And Aslan won't let anything bad happen."

There was a snort behind them. James and Ames turned to see Oreius approaching. He was frowning skeptically at the sprite. "Friendly words will not gain our trust."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You doubt Aslan can save the human child?"

The centaur answered with the amusement that peoples with a superior complex tend to have when picking out the 'faults' of those 'below' them. "You may have convinced Aslan, but your words will not fool us."

"Well that's all very well," she replied evenly, "because I do not intend to fool anybody."

"You are calling Aslan a fool?" James growled, tail lashing.

The lass laid a hand on his armored arm. "Easy, sailor. This is not the time nor place. There'll be plenty of time for confrontation after the war, when we know for sure which assumptions are true and which are false. Now," she turned back to the warrior, "before you can say some other irritating thing,—"

",—I believe you came here to tell us where we are staying," James finished the thought.

The centaur's expression softened (for lack of a better word) when he faced the mion. "You will be sharing a tent with King Peter, _General_ Norrington." James and Peter exchanged expressions. "And you, sprite, Aslan has places with our young Queens." That meant Susan and Lucy. "If you abuse your proximity to such important victims, then so help me, I'll—."

"You'll do nothing," James shouted with a roar behind his words, surging forward until he was nose to nose with the centaur, glaring into his eyes with a blazing fire in his gaze. "Let us rephrase your threat, shall we? If _you_ so much as lay a hand or hoof on my kin," she here he drew the lass close to him, "then I will not hesitate in killing you."

"_James!_" she hit his arm. "What did I _just_ say? A time for confrontation will come. But not is not the opportune moment, savvy?" James slowly turned his head too look at her, teeth gritted, ears flattened, eyes glittering with fury. With a final glance and growl at the centaur, he whirled around and stormed away. She let him go.

"Where's he going?" Lucy wondered.

"He wants to be alone with his thoughts. Oh so dramatic," Ames replied with nonchalant amusement. "When he's calmed down, he'll come bacck. Brave, misled centaur, I apologize on his behalf for his discourtesy toward you." Oreius, still stunned that 'Aslan's kin' had threatened him so, could do little more than shake his head dumbly.

"I think it's best if you left us," Peter told him calmly. Taking heed of his King's words, the centaur turned and left, hooves clipping and clopping melodiously against the ground. Peter turned back to the sprite. "You seem pretty calm for someone no one else trusts."

This time she laughed out loud (lol!) "It doesn't matter if everyone else believes me," she answered with a shake of her head and a spark in her eyes. "_I _know I'm trustable. _Aslan_ knows I'm trustable. That's all that matters, isn't it?"

Peter couldn't hide his smile. "If it helps any, _I _believe you."

Ames turned to see Lucy, still holding her sister's hand. She smiled and bowed with a flourish (for naturally she had to play the part). "I thank you, milady."

Susan and Peter exchanged glances before smiling and agreeing. "I'm Peter, that's Susan and Lucy. Our brother's name is Edmund."

"But then I'm sure you already knew that," Susan mused thoughtfully.

"My name is Amy. My partner's name is James. It is a pleasure to meet you, although it would be pleasanter still were the circumstances better."

"Yes," Peter agreed. "But we're going to _make_ it better."

"Naturally. Now, I suppose you all should rest. You've only just gotten here, yes? And you've had a long and trying journey."

"But what about you?"

"Me? I'll be right here to wait for James to come back, and then he and I will exlore the camp. We have some things to discuss."

"All right." He started to follow his sisters into their tent (so that they might stay together for the while), then paused, holding the flap open. "Good luck—with everyone else, I mean."

She tsked once, giving him the impression that she was older than him. "Oh, now don't give any mind to that. With my charm and good looks, how can they resist me?" She struck a pose, and he smiled. "No, you don't need to worry about that, savvy? Just go and get some rest." He nodded, and the tent flap fell closed behind him. Her posture drooped a little. She wisht her confidence was as genuine as it had sounded. With a sigh, she sat down on the natural step created by a great stone slab.

She suddenly wished she had her flute (which was one of the first times, for she liked to tell herself she was not fond of the instrument). With a sigh, she stretched out her legs to relax and fight the longing, and accidentally kicked her pack. It toppled to one side, and out slid something shiny, silver, and sprite-sized. A flute! "Now how long has that been in there?" She seized is and rolled it over in her hands. With an eyebrow cocked, she glanced toward Aslan's tent. The scarlet cloth billowed innocently in the light breeze. She couldn't help but grin. Giving silent thanks, she lifted it to her lips and, naturally, began to play music from the soundtracks of Pirates, Narnia, and Lord of the Rings.

James had been sulking at the edge of camp for a while now. It was unfamiliar to him—the whole sulking thing. He supposed it was because he had always gone and _done _something in the past—sparred or gone fishing or gone swimming until his arms refused to respond and dragging himself ashore exhausted and half-drowned (this seemed to be a hobby of his)—but now, with none of those opportunities available, he was forced to bask in his anger and irritation.

Now, Narnia was dimming as the sin crept closer to the horizon and the shadows lengthened. He was stalking slowly in the decrescendoing quiet, down the main path/clearing of the camp, arms folded neatly behind him. His eyes stared thoughtfully, sightlessly at the ground, oblivious to the sideward stares many of the Narnian soldiers cast his way as he passed. His ears pricked when the light tinkling of a happy melody tickled at them, and he looked up to see the sprite not far off, fiddling with a small flute (although, for its small size, it sounded just the same as a regular flute) and an improvisational variation on 'Concerning Hobbits.' She seemed so contend and worry-free. He shook his head with a rueful smile, realizing what an immature fool he had been. Sometimes she seemed so much wiser than him. It reminded him of the wisdom that shows through in children, where sometimes they seem to know better than even their parents. He had to shake his ears to keep from otherwise shuddering at the thought of small children. A reader may imagine that he is not good with kids.

It took him a moment to realize that the music had stopped, and he looked back to the lass to see her staring blankly into space. "Are you all right after all?" he asked softly.

"Just thinking," she answered distantly, struggling back to the surface. She sounded as though she did not like what she had realized, and this concerned him. "When we left Tia Dalma's place, there's about a month left until Dead Man's Chest premiers." She paused, as though trying to finish figuring out a concept.

James stared at her a moment, waiting for her to continue. "And...this troubles you?"

"I don't know. It might trouble us all if my theory is correct."

"And what, praytell, is this theory of yours?"

"When the movie comes out, your Realm and mine will naturally be drawn closer together. As will the corresponding people and characters."

"All right, I'm following you so far..."

"So that means you will be pulled closer. And so will Jack." She paused to let her words sink in. "But Jack isn't just in your Realm. He's also here and somewhere else. So, these Realms will be drawn closer, too. But it won't be natural, and so any natural limits would be bypassed." she paused to swallow and calm herself. "It could cause an inter-dimensional collision."

* * *

Okay, there you haves it. Chapter 27 has a good start. As always, I am a review whore. Please please _please _leave a review. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease! (And don't forget to check out some of TheDreamChild's works!) 


	27. The Great Awakening

All righty then, so still only five reviews. There are 16 people have this story on alert. Is the message system down? I understand it was for a while. Either way, I suppose I should count by hits instead of reviews, anyway. In that case, woohoo for 19 hits in a month. Wow, even that's not great. Oh well. To those of you still enjoying the story, I hope I may continue to please, and that I do not lose your favour too, as I seem to have done with many others.

**Anonymous**: I understand. Things probably aren't piratey enough. Don;t worry, though. We see Jack again. And sooner than you think.

**Inwë:** No no. I say exactly the same thing about you. I suppose that makes us equals. And I'm completely serious about what I said. P.S. James's temper is what makes his funny/scary!

**Sporks:** I think I might have been that calm, but only out of awe. Don't worry, she hugs him soon.

**Captain Rika Kitsktai:** That's an interesting dream! And you know...that really isn't too far off the mark—I mean OH NOES SPOILERS! 3

You'll all notice that Tia Dalma's style speech has changed. Thank you Mark Twain; it feels much more accurate if read correctly. If not, well...that's what imaginations are for, right?

**Disclaimer: Bunny plus sheep equals beep. Cap'n Mera plus owning Pirates equals a lie. Like cake. (The cake is a lie.)**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Awakening**

The next day, training began. The head archer, an experienced female centaur, was charged with training Ames to use her bow and arrow. Despite her prejudices, she was impressed. The sprite had excellent aim for a beginner, although it took her a very long time to set up her shot. Acting with the willingness of a teacher to teach and student willing to learn—for which the lass was grateful—she patiently instructed and corrected her, until her preparatory time had improved without affecting her aim (although neither were anywhere near what an expert would call 'good').

After several hours under the warm sun, the training session was called to an end. Amy, before her mentor could leave, bowed respectfully. "I thank you for your patience and willingness to teach me."

"You need not thank me as though we are working together solely because we were assigned to one another." The sprite looked up. "You are a good student and a fast learner. You take what I say and apply it."

"Aren't I supposed to?" the tiny teenager asked as she straightened.

The centauress snorted. "Sometimes I wonder is many of my students are deaf or stupid." Naturally shy, Amy had to look down as she smiled. "You are not so old as you give pretense to, are you? Why, you're still a filly."

"Is this a bad thing...Ma'am?"

"Call me Brighid. And no, it is not. When I think on the way others think, I believe they would see you as a sprite youngling who did not agree with the decision her people made, and ran away to join us before her parents could force her to conform, if only everyone knew your youth."

"I'm afraid I make a petulant child," she admitted with a rueful smile. "And besides, pretending is much to fun. It makes me feel enigmatic."

Brighid laughed. "Well, the more enigmatic you are, the less people will trust you. I shall see you again at the same time tomorrow, but right now, if you'll excuse me, I must meet with Oreius about where best to place our archers. Farewell." And with a small salute, the magnificent centauress turned and left, leaving the lass to collect her arrows.

James was just exiting Peter's tent as Ames walked by. He lowered himself to all fours and strolled with her through the camp. "Once again, I must note that you seem unconcerned regarding Jack's curiosity," he at last rumbled softly.

"That is correct," she answered evenly, eyes continuing to stare at the ground, arms folded professionally behind her back. "Canon seems to favor his survival. However, I understand that we cannot be certain." She stopped walking. "Will you guard me for a moment? I'm going to try to reach him."

James only nodded, sitting and leaning against a crate, out of the way, and allowing her to sit in his lap. As her eyes went blank, he held her in his arms, and leaned his head back so that it looked like they were napping. Contrarily, he was painfully aware, senses alert, for now that his aunt was more vulnerable, who would hesitate?

She reached out as far as she thought she could. She sensed Aslan everywhere she went—even when she reached Jadis's castle. She couldn't see it though. She wasn't searching for something she could see, but for something she could feel. But once there, she felt the sudden urge to look around anyway—the sudden wonder at where exactly she was in the castle. A sudden urge to sniff every inch, to stick her nose into every crevice, a curiosity about what lie in every corner. Curiosity. Her eyes flew open. "He's still alive."

"Is he in the Witch's castle?"

"Yes."

The tip of his tail twitched, but he bit back his frustration, taking a calming breath. "Well—at least we know he is still alive."

"And for sure where he is."

James sighed, then smiled ruefully at her. "You're sure all we can do is wait?"

"I'm sure. But we'll be plenty busy to pass the time." His eyes flitted to meet hers, and he nodded.

———————————

The first week had in fact flown by. Ames and James had seen little of each other, and to Amy who was a clingy lost-puppy type, it made their separation all the worse.

By now, she had advanced enough in her own training to begin helping the girls. Along with that, she juggled weapon duty—carefully sharpening it loads of spare weapons that had no specific owners (for it was indeed considered rude to polish and sharpen another's blade)—as well as trying to teach Peter how to ride a horse (although, with her minimal teaching skills, she thought, perhaps one of the centaurs should be doing this), _and_ even the occasional sparring match—which she normally lost, for they were always against prejudiced centaurs, fauns and satyrs. But that was okay; her job in these was only to season the soldiers to be able to fight quicker-moving, more nimble "wee folk", and she was able to surprise them with a victory of her own every once in a while. How she longed to be her own size again—if only to be able to swordfight with James in the style she was accustomed to. These swords with their uses were used in an entirely different fashion. There was no strike-parry. There was only hack-stab.

Right now, Peter was having his special talk with Aslan, and everything seemed peaceful—until the frantic blowing of a horn cut through the morning. "Susan," the sprite hurriedly explained to her mion counterpart, grabbing her effects and taking off toward the sound like so many others.

James got there at the head of the group, sword drawn, like Oreius beside him. "No. Stay your weapons," Aslan ordered, having arrived with them, and Oreius motioned to those behind them not to attack. "This is Peter's battle."

Amy pushed her way to James' side. There were two wolves. One was pinned helplessly beneath Aslan's great paws. The other was Maugrim. He and Peter, with sword drawn, were circling each other. Susan and Lucy had taken refuge in the branches above them.

"You may think you're a king... But you're going to die—like a dog!"

The wolf leapt at him, and the girls screamed as Peter bell back. Even James was ready to spring forward. They scrambled out of the tree and rolled the motionless lupine off their brother; he was all right, and the wolf was dead—Amy felt a pang in spite of herself at the loss of a wolf's life, for wolves held a special place in her heart.

Aslan nipped the other wolf before releasing it, and it raced away in fear. "After him," he commanded. "He'll lead you to Edmund." James nodded, dropping to all fours and leading the party after the wolf.

Surprising herself, Amy was able to keep pace with everyone else, despite her short strides, and it seemed less than an hour before they reached the Witch's camp, which was icy still, and shadowed so, that it appeared to have the deceiving light of twilight. With a moment's observation, the party saw that the enemy's guard was down, and so without hesitation leapt into their midst. It was much easier than Ames had thought, and she felled a handful, though taking care not to kill (else how could she live with herself, in spite of the situation?), without incident. She looked up to see James and Oreius heading toward the tree where Edmund was bound, and gagged, guarded by Ginnarbrik, and raced to join him. Oreius disabled the dwarf, and James kneeled down to untie the rope. Ames helped things along by removing the gag.

"And now we must leave," said Oreius.

"Wait," Ames said with a mischievous glint in her eye, "just one more thing." And she tied up Ginnarbrik in Edmund's place, gagged him, and pinned his hat comically to the tree with the knife he had been using to threaten the boy. Laughing at herself, she nodded to James, and the party left the clearing full of injured and motionless friends, boy in tow, mission accomplished.

—————————

She was still running on adrenaline as they brought Edmund back to Aslan's camp. It was with great relief that Lucy Susan, and the newly knighted Peter were reunited with their brother.

Ames watched with a small smile, arms crossed, from a distance. She turned to face James as he approached. "What are you doing over here by your lonesome?" he asked, crouching beside her.

"As opposed to where? Exchanges aren't particularly friendly at the moment, in case you haven't noticed."

"I have noticed," he replied, eyes glinting, "and I think that your fortunes are improved."

Her pointed ears pricked. "What do you mean?"

"Oreius has been telling the others how well you fought, and about your little prank. He's convinced some that you have proven your loyalty."

A green eyebrow rose. "Only some?" She didn't sound surprised. "At least there are even that many."

"They want to meet you and apologize for their behaviour and treatment of you."

"I'm touched. Give them my thanks."

"You can thank them yourself. They're waiting for you right now." And without giving her time to protest, he grabbed her arm and dragged her after him.

"What am I, baggage?" she muttered, struggling to keep pace with him. Part of her baulked at the idea of meeting with these people, who until so recently had treated her with nothing but contempt; another part of her baulked at the idea of having to get up in front of so many people in general—the idea nearly made her dig in her heels and refuse to go any further.

They rounded a corner, and there everyone was—a small fraction out of the entire army, but still a good number of people—at least forty. When she and James were noticed, the looks that came her way were just as contemptuous as before, and for a moment she thought it was all one sick joke, before smiles began to break out and they began to greet her. She realized the aforementioned critical scowls had merely been presented out of habit, for as she met and spoke with the fauns, satyrs, centaurs, the occasional big cat, and a boxer whose tail was wagging so hard she thought it might break, she saw the sincerity in their faces and received their apologies with grace.

To top off what had become a very good day, just after supper, Aslan notified Ames and James that they would be sharing their own tent, so that Edmund would have a place in his brother's tent. "Thank you for having cooperated in the time that you were separated."

"No," the sprite had replied, finally acting on impulse and hugging him. "Thank _you_."

Now, she and her nephew were preparing for bed in their cosy tent. "My face hurts," she told him.

He laughed. "What–from smiling so much?"

And so, with cheerful exhaustion, they blew out their candles and lanterns and climbed into their beds. The lass was wary, however, because good days nearly always ended badly for her. But she was still aglow with cheer as she began to relax, and with James purring softly as he slipped toward sleep and the sounds of the night to guide Amy into slumber, it was hard to imagine that anything could go wrong. Just as she fell asleep, she felt an intense flash of foreboding, and her last waking thought was feeling that she had forgotten something very, very important.

———————————

Chocolate eyes fluttered open to a small bedroom aglow with the warm golden radiance of mid-morning.

Tia Dalma was mixing herbs and flower petals in a wooden bowl, in her back room—the place where she kept all her ingredients. She looked up at the sound of footsteps. The girl and her big-brother of a nephew must have returned. It was not two mornings since they had left. She ducked under the curtain of beads, seeds, nuts, and shells, and encountered not whom she expected to encounter. What she found was none other than Jack Sparrow. Or at least...part of him. He was looking around the shack with a confused, though peaceful expression, and when the curtain made noise, he turned to face her.

Tia Dalma's breath was drawn away at the sight of him. He looked in the one way she had never seen him before. He looked innocent as a newborn, and with as many memories as one. There was a golden glow about him, which occasionally rippled around the room as though reflected by water. "Jack Sparra' has 'wyeken'd."

He did not respond. He merely tipped his head to one side, gaze—more intense, more direct, more deep than ever—never leaving hers. And his silence, though unnerving it would have been in the past, was peaceful and innocent; almost soothing.

She frowned after a moment. In such a place as he was, he took no notice of the jars hanging from the ceiling, or the foreign artifacts strewn about. Her heart twisted with pity at the lack of his curiosity—but it also twisted with confusion, for when he looked at her, she saw wonder in his eyes, Wonder which was a part of Curiosity. She resolved not to ponder this, however, at least not yet. She had other work to attend to, and so retreated behind the seed curtain again. The ghost sharing her inhabitance would not go anywhere. She knew not what he would do, but she knew what he could not.

As she was mixing some honey into the mash, she heard the shell curtain jingle, and looked up to see him standing there, sniffing the air tentatively. His eyes slid about the room, seeking out to source of the enticing aroma. Those fathomless chocolate orbs landed on the humble wooden bowl, then flitted to meet her gaze, asking a silent question.

The priestess's heart skipped a beat, and with small bewilderment, answered, "It is a poultice for clyening wounds. I read a sign, said dyenger on de way. Must be prepyered." She had been disappointed as she had acknowledged the absence of curiosity in the pirate. But now that he was showing some sort of the trait—even more than his earlier wonder—she felt only confused. How could he be curious when Curiosity was off in another world?

Had something happened to the manifestation?

But what? If it had died, the Commodore and Amy would have come back—for indeed, its death _could_ possibly remotely cause the traits manifested to travel back to their home Realm...but only if they were undamaged, which would not work, because if it had been killed, it had been damaged. Could it be dead without having been killed? That seemed both likely and unlikely, considering the emotion, and that question yielded no answers. But then what?

As the morning passed, Tia Dalma mumbled an incantation to her claws and bones, giving them a shake before scattering them on her divination table. What she read in them confused her. She rose, expression stunned, and fetched the runes (which she had bartered long ago and had never used but once). She repeated her incantation and scattered them over her previous casting. The answer was the same.

Calypso's brow furrowed, as she began to understand. "So him dead wit'oot bein' dead."

———————————

A couple of days later, late in the morning, Peter and his brother were engaged in a mock battle, Ames silently observing their technique and horsemanship with a critical eye. However, her eyes also followed their mounts. The unicorn—his name was Balthier—had been wonderful to work with. Being a unicorn, he had sensed her honesty from the beginning, and instinctively trusted her. And, unlike the movie, he looked real—not like a 'white' (though, to be technical, actually grey) horse with a plastic horn stuck to his brow. Philip, Edmund's chestnut, had worked nicely as well—most of the creatures who were not part human trusted her—though it was not unlike him to complain or goof off.

"Come on, Ed!" Peter cried cheerfully, "Sword-point up, like Mr. Norrington showed us!"

"On guard!" Their swords flashed and clanged together.

"Now block!"

"Hey!"

Movement out the corner of her eye detected the arrival of Beaver, and the sprite watched with amusement as Philip spooked and Edmund made an awkward mistake.

"The Witch has demanded a meeting with Aslan," Beaver announced. "She's on her way here."

Ames' blood ran cold. She knew now what she had been forgetting.

* * *

All right, there's you update. Now review, **review, REVIEW!!** The cake is a lie. Grr, now I'm hungry. Onto the Kraft macaroni and cheese! (With tuna and pimentos and...) Hey, anyone want some chocolate covered lie?

Wow. Hyper. I'm sure that isn't helping the review situation at all. Oh well. If it irritates you, tell me about it in a review. I'm off to eat cheese! See you next update.


	28. The Battle Won

Heyyy everybody! You're reading the work of next season's DRUM MAJOR for my high school's marching band! Wootwoot!!

I'm so sorry about the wait, but you'll be happy to know that I have been working to get this chapter out the entire time.

Still, even with ample time to review, few have. Thanks to those who have, but to the rest, ...what happened?

**Captain Rika Kisuktai:** Why are you always so spot on? Er I mean Ihavenoideawhatyouaretalkingabout! Eheh eh.

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Tia Dalma vs Calypso; I just wanted to call her something else. You know, like how Amy can also be 'the lass' or Todd or something else. I felt I needed to call Tia Dalma something else . It was coincidence that it was the last time she was named.

Also thank you, Authoressinhiding, Inwë, and RespectTheSporks for your faithful reviews.

**Disclaimer****:** I shall know Pirates are not mine like the back of my hand, or I'll know the back of Disney's. (Wow, a Horatio Hornblower reference...and I've never even seen it! XD)

**Chapter 28: A Movie Plug-In, and—Father?!**

And so came the White Witch, carried on a litter by four ugly cyclops, and accompanied by her commanding general and a patrol of other minotaurs. The dwarf Ginnarbrik strode in front of the procession, announcing "The Queen of Narnia!" and other such nonsense.

The entirety of Aslan's army lined their path, all the way to the lion's tent; the King of Narnia himself waited outside of it, eyes never leaving the witch. Some bellowed their outrage, along with some obscenities—however, others were wary and bewildered, asking one another, "What should we do?"

James, beside Amy and the four Pevensie children, lashed his tail, a soft growl rumbling at the back of his throat, threatening to grow into a snarl at any moment. His paw (hand?) rested on the hilt of his sword, ready to jump into battle in an instant.

The nightmarish creatures (though also goofy and clumsy-looking) set down the litter, and the embodiment of all that is Sin and Temptation rose, and began to approach Aslan. "You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan," she said informatively, glancing at Edmund. A murmur of shock went through the crowd, and James' snarl finally came out as he tightened his grip on his sword.

"His offense was not against you," the Great Lion replied calmly.

"Have you forgotten the laws upon which Narnia was built?"

"Do not cite the Deep Magic to me, Witch," Aslan commanded with a roar in his voice, adding in a growl, "I was there when it was written."

"Then you'll remember well that every traitor belongs to me," the witch replied. "His blood is my property."

Peter drew his sword and cried, "Try and take him then!" Aslan and James growled warning to him as Jadis gazed at him with disdain.

"Do you really think that mere force will deny me my right, little king? Aslan knows that, unless I have blood as the law demands," she turned to face the crowd and raised her voice, "all of Narnia will be overturned, and perish in fire and water. That boy," she pointed menacingly at Edmund, "will die, on the Stone Table." Cries of protest rang out among the ranks. "As is tradition. You dare not refuse me."

"Enough," Aslan said quietly. "I shall talk with you alone." The two retreated into the great red tent.

"Nothing now but to wait," Amy sighed; the bitterness in her voice, however calm she seemed, could not be missed.

"I don't understand," James growled, massaging his paw where he had held his sword too tensely. "What can Aslan do to stop this, if stopping it will only destroy Narnia?"

Amy remained silent, only staring solemnly at the scarlet tent that held the two most powerful beings she would ever encounter in person.

At last, after what seemed like ages, the tent flap moved, and the audience, who had sat and waited where they stood, hurriedly got to their feet (or what have you) and gathered to hear the outcome. Out stepped the White Witch. She cast a glance at Edmund as she strode past—with trepidation, James thought she looked triumphant—and continued toward her litter.

Aslan followed her out. "She has renounced her claim on the Son of Adam's blood." Cheers rose from the company.

"How do I know your promise will be kept?" Jadis demanded. In reply, Aslan roared ferociously, and the witch fell into her seat in surprise. Everyone cheered and applauded. James fancied that her ice crown had melted a bit since her arrival.

However, even as he was congratulating the Pevensies with a grin and a thunderous purr that made it hard to speak, James noticed the sprite staring only at Aslan. He followed her gaze, and saw with great surprise that the great lion looked grieved and sad, rather than victorious, as he walked away.

———————————

That night, however abuzz with thoughts his mind was, James managed to curl into a ball and doze off. He was awakened several times by the restless stirrings of the sprite on the opposite side of the tent, tossing and turning, unable to find rest. At last, in the middle of the night, his ear pricked at the sound of soft footsteps outside.

Amy sat bolt upright as a great shadow slid along the side of their tent. It was time. "_James!_" she hissed, jumping out of bed and grabbing her cloak and weapons. The mion followed suit, belting on his sword and following her out into the darkness. They spotted the form of Aslan climbing a hill into the trees. Two small, cloaked forms darted after him, keeping their distance and hiding in the shadows; Susan and Lucy were following him also. The strangers exchanged a glance and stalked after the others, into the woods.

Aslan walked through the trees, bathed in moonlight, head bowed, and his paws dragged slightly, as though a great weight pulled at them. Ames crept from shadow to shadow, the mion following silently. Only a few yards ahead, Susan and Lucy were doing the same, albeit much less silently.

At last Aslan paused—it was past midnight, by now—with a twitch of his ears, and without turning around, asked in soft rue, "Shouldn't you all be in bed?"

James and the sprite were the first to emerge. "We couldn't sleep," Norrington confessed.

Susan looked at them in surprise, having thought she and her sister had been the only ones. She shook this off, however, and turned back to Aslan, the four of them approaching him. "Please, Aslan...couldn't we come with you?"

"I would be glad of the company awhile," he murmured. "Thank you." And, with the girls twining their fingers in his mane, and the sprite and mion each laying a hand comfortingly on either of his sides, they set off once more. After what seemed like an eternity, and yet had only been a couple or minutes, or perhaps a couple of hours, the trees thinned, and a great hill with fires and stone structures was visible in the distance, beyond the edge of the wood. Here, Aslan turned to them. "It is time," he told them. "From here, I must go on alone."

"But Aslan—," Susan began.

"You have to trust me, for this must be done. Thank you Susan. Thank you Lucy. Thank you James. Thank you Amy," he said, meeting each of their gazes. "And Farewell." And so he left them.

James touched Amy's shoulder and nodded toward another path, overgrown and riddled with thorns. It would lead to the same place. They both knew it, though without knowing why. Susan and Lucy had made the same decision, and the four of them together followed it and found a place to hide behind an outcropping of rocks and bushes, with a perfect view.

Within said view was the hill, and atop that, many stone structures. The mount was swarming with all manner of ugly and disturbing creatures from the witch's army, though yet again they were a mere fraction of the entire company.

Aslan ascended the slabs of stone acting as steps toward the great Stone Table at the center of the commotion. The crowds parted before him in intimidation, though they called out insults nonetheless. However, the great lion was unfazed by all of this, and padded through them as if they weren't there. At last he faced the witch, who wore a slain pheasant over one shoulder, and stood waiting upon the Table. In her hands she held an ancient obsidian dagger, decorated with a crystal of lifeless and un-shimmering ice. "Behold," she mocked, "the Great Lion." The company laughed and jeered.

James looked at Amy apprehensively, but she was stone-faced and impossible to read as she watched the events unfolding.

The minotaur general approached with his axe and prodded the lion in the side with it. Aslan snarled quietly. At a nod from Jadis, the general bowled the great cat off his feet with the side of his axe. More cheers and insults filled the air.

"Why doesn't he fight back?" James whispered desperately. He could feel the panic rising in him, and it was enough to put a shake in his voice. "Why don't _we?_"

"We're outnumbered," the sprite murmured emotionlessly.

"Bind him!" Jadis ordered, and the creatures swarmed toward Aslan, even stepping on him, to bind his limbs and muzzle. "Wait." There was a sudden silence. "Let him first be shaved."

Cheering maliciously, the company drew their knives and sheared that great mane, that golden crown. Without it, Aslan seemed smaller and less formidable. "Why, he's just a big cat!" someone exclaimed.

"Bring him to me," the White Witch ordered when they had finished, and the lion was dragged unceremoniously up the steps to the Table. The cheering crescendoed until the not-Queen held out her hand for silence.

It was in this silence that tears began to prickle Amy's eyes, and James muttered to himself an inaudible plan of attack. "We can't, James," she whispered, and she sounded very, very tired. "We just can't."

At last Jadis stepped closer to Aslan and kneeled by his head. The vultures began the ceremony as old as Narnia, striking their staffs against the ground in a slow rhythm. The company began to cheer again, and roars and shrieks and cried of all kinds echoed through the valley beyond the hill. They joined in on the beat, stamping their feet and clapping and all manner of such actions in time with the beat.

"You know, Aslan," Jadis murmured softly, though Amy, James, Susan, and Lucy could hear her clearly over the crowd, "I'm a little disappointed in you. Did you honestly think by all this that you could save the human traitor?"

"What is she talking about?" James growled in frustration, lashing his tail and clutching so tightly at the boulder that hid them that his claws left scars in the stone.

"You are giving me your life," the witch went on, "and saving no one." She chuckled softly. "So much for love." And she rose, as did her voice as she addressed the company. "Tonight, the Deep Magic will be appeased. But tomorrow, we will take Narnia FOREVER!!" The cheers swelled, and the beating grew faster and faster. "In that knowledge, despair," she raised the dagger, "and DIE!" Aslan's gaze met with James' for an instant, before the blade plunged into its victim, and his great golden eyes closed and he breathed his last.

"No!" James cried, though no foe heard him. Beside him, Amy gasped, and he drew her into his embrace.

"The Great Cat is DEAD!" Jadis cried in triumph. The valley and forests thundered with the cheers of her army. "General, prepare your troops for battle—however short it may be."

"They cannot _do_ this!" the mion cried, springing to his feet, drawing his blade, and surging into battle.

"No, James!" Amy pleaded desperately, no longer stoic as tears streamed down her face. "Aslan sacrificed himself for our sakes. _All _our sakes," she added with meaning. "Do not throw that away. Not now. _Please_, James!"

He rounded on her, and she was shocked at the fury in his eyes. "You knew this was going to happen!"

She choked on a sob. "We must protect canon. There was nothing we could have done otherwise." Shoulders shaking in fury and grief, not to mention the difficult task of self restraint, he sheathed his sword.

And so they waited, silently grieving, for the Witch and her army to leave. As soon as the fires had gone out and the coast was clear, the four witnesses climbed up to the Stone Table and sat beside Aslan's body. Lucy was beside herself with grief, and the three girls held back sobs as they looked upon him. The youngest Pevensie reached for the curing juice of the fireflower. "It's too late," Susan told her softly.

"He's gone," James added gently.

They gathered in silent grief around the Great Lion. Birds sang in the distance, and there was a very dim, grey light that told of dawn not far off. Amy wondered how the world could be so peaceful when such a thing had happened.

A sound reached their ears (and for the mion, a smell reached his nose), and they looked to see many, many mice climbing over Aslan's body. "Get away," Susan shooed them. "Get away, all of you."

"No," James murmured with a twitch of his whiskers, "Look."

They were chewing through the ropes that bound him, which were snapping loose between their teeth. And so, the four unbound him.

"We have to tell the others," Susan struggled to be sensible.

"We can't just leave him," Lucy protested.

"Lucy, there's no time. They need to know." There was a silence.

"I will go," said a soft voice, and Amy turned to see James, rising wearily from the stone. "My paws are swift and driven by grief. I shall get there in time, and I _will_ be back," he promised.

"Be safe," the sprite bid him, and the girls echoed her.

With only a serious—though determined—nod, he dropped to all fours and streaked toward the camp.

———————————

Peter strode out of the great red tent to face Oreius and Edmund. "He's right." James sat not far off, head bowed in grief and exhaustion. "He's gone."

"Then you'll have to lead us," Edmund told him. He looked like he was about to protest. "Peter, there's an army out there—it's ready to follow you."

"I can't," Peter insisted. "Oreius, can't you?"

"I take my orders from you, sire. I do not give orders to you."

"Mr. Norrington—"

James shook his head. "This is your battle, King Peter. Aslan believed in you, as does your army, and your brother. As do I." Peter looked more reassured now.

"The Witch's army is nearing, sire," Oreius announced gently, no longer able to wait. "What are your orders?"

The blonde looked resolutely at their battle plan—which included tactics from the war raging on in his own world—and made a decision. "You'll be with me, won't you?" he asked the mion.

"No. I must return and protect the girls. But I wish you luck."

"Thank you," he replied as James rose, extending his hand. Norrington grasped it in his paw and shook, before suddenly pulling the little king into a man-hug. "You remind me of my dad," Peter mumbled into his shoulder. "So much."

Taking a deep breath, James replied with a cracking voice, "Then as a father might say; You remind me of myself when I was young. You have a great journey before you, and you shall not perceive its ending until it has past." He turned to the younger of the two brothers and looked him square in the eye. "Edmund, I have an important job for you; keep an eye on your brother for me, will you?" The boy could only nod. "Then there is nothing more for me here. I must away to the girls. King Edmund. King Peter," he bowed respectively. "Good luck. And Godspeed." With that, he dropped to his paws and raced away.

Just before he was out of earshot, he heard Oreius mutter, "Who is God?" before launching into a conversation on tactics.

The question set his thoughts on a mutinous trail as he flew through the forest. _The question is not 'who is God',_ he thought. _The question is, 'where is God?' How could He have let this happen?_ However, his faith and logic won out, and as much as he wanted to bask in such dark thoughts, he had to admit that bad things happen, and that is a part of life. Besides, he recalled, everything happens for a reason.

———————————

Susan, Lucy, and Amy, exhausted by their grief, had lain their heads on Aslan's body to rest. The sprite was awakened by the sounds of laboured breathing, and the sisters woke up as she darted to the top of the steps, sword drawn, to see who—or what—was there.

"James!" she cried, upon seeing the mion, thoroughly exhausted, struggling to drag himself up the hill. She sheathed her blade and descended to help him. "Are you all right?" she asked gently.

"No," he panted. "I am not. Of my fatigue, I shall recover in a few minutes. Of my grief, well." They slowly ascended the great stone slabs that served as steps to where Susan stood, watching with concern. "I'm fine," he assured her before she could ask. And with that, he staggered to the Stone Table to join Aslan once more.

It was well past dawn now, though the sky was overcast here, and the hill itself was freezing; the place where the Witch's power had extinguished the warmth of hope. At last, Amy, still beside herself, murmured to James, "If we could have stopped it...what would have changed? I mean...if someone could have stopped Jesus' crucifixion because they had known it would happen, would they have stopped it?" James looked at her sharply. This was the first reference to Christianity she had made since that trip in the winter, what seemed like ages ago.

He had no answer for her. Instead, he murmured, "We should go."

Lucy looked up for the first time. "I'm so cold." The Witch's power had taken a hold of them. Nonetheless, she began to walk away.

James briefly lay his paw on Aslan's shoulder and pushed his nose into the thicker fur where the mane had been. "Goodbye, my friend," he said calmly, before turning abruptly and striding away. Amy was startled by his stoicism. He had always been so open around her, but now he had retreated into his shell of poker-faced, unreadable, and emotionless.

With lingering glances over their shoulders, the four went away from that place. When at last their backs were turned, the wind began to howl, and there was a great cracking behind them that shook them to the ground. Whirling around, they saw that the Stone Table had broken, and Aslan's body was gone.

Rage flowed through James, and he clenched his jaws to suppress a furious snarl. "What have they done?" he cried at the same time that Lucy asked "Where's Aslan?" They stared in awe and wonder.

Their eyes were soon drawn to the great stone arch, where they could see the sun emerging from behind a cloud. This was not what their gazes were drawn to, however, but to a magnificent and familiar silhouette against its light. "Aslan!" they all exclaimed in joy, and skirted the split table to embrace him. He laughed gently, though enough to be heard over James' thunderous purr.

"But we saw the knife," the mion managed at last, in awe. "The witch."

"If the witch knew the true meaning of sacrifice, she might have interpreted the Deep Magic differently." Aslan replied, "That when a willing victim who has committed no treachery is killed in a traitor's stead, the Stone Table will crack," his voice echoed slightly off the stone, "and even death itself will turn backwards."

"We sent the news that you were dead," Susan told him.

"Peter and Edmund have gone to war," James confirmed.

"We have to help them," Lucy drew her dagger.

Aslan only chuckled. "We will, dear one. But not alone. Climb on my back," he said, crouching for them. "We have far to go, and little time to get there."

Feeling something powerful rising inside him, James was compelled to add, "And you may want to cover your ears," before he and Aslan let loose tremendous roars that echoed off the valley side.

And so they were off. James ran beside Aslan, all former exhaustion gone, only pure energy running through his limbs. Susan and Lucy rode upon the Great Lion's back. And Amy, she did something she had dreamed of but had never allowed herself to do until such a moment as this: she flew. As soon as she had mastered the movements, she was darting about in the air, twisting and turning and flipping and looping and doing barrel rolls—her face was that definition of joy. She would even add in a few bursts of colour or the images of water and waves rolling through the sky.

They descended into the valley, racing over the plains. Trees lined the fields on one side, a river on the other. Before them rose the snow-capped crags of the mountains. "Where are we going?" James asked with pricked ears and quivering whiskers. No one replied, although he was certain that the sprite that flew beside him knew the answer.

Their destination came into view just then, anyway; but instead of quenching his curiosity, it only made it stronger. The Witch's Castle. And Curiosity. The twin-peaked ice mountain rose stark amid a placid, glimmering lake—James fancied it might once have been frozen solid. In fact, it looked as though the castle itself were beginning to melt.

"Hang on," Aslan called to the girls, and doubled their pace.

———————————

Norrington crept warily through the forest of stone figures. They all looked eerily realistic, and the place itself was so desolate that it was creepy. Amy led the way through the oddly posed figures, which seemed as though they had been frozen mid-action, threading her way until she came to the statue of a faun. Without thinking, she reached up and touched his cheek. "There is still hope for you," she whispered, suddenly looking very infatuated (James would have rolled his eyes had the situation been different).

"Oh no." She turned to face James. He was staring at something near the faun's hooves. "Look."

She bent down to see the fox, frozen in stone. "Jack."

The mion rounded on her. "You said he was alive!"

The sprite puffed up with indignation. "He was when I checked. Calm down, will ya? Everything will be okay."

"How?! He's _dead_."

"So was Aslan," she replied softly, though firmly, and that shut him up.

Lucy and Susan had come to these statues now, surrounded by the dripping ice and stone of the castle, and the younger began to cry at the sight of her friend. However, always calm, Aslan padded over to the statue and breathed on the faun, his breath stirring the stone curls of his hair.

Slowly, slowly, the grey of rock became colour, and a slow, deep heartbeat could be heard. At last, as stone turned to flesh, Mr. Tumnus gasped for breath and was alive. He stumbled forward, nearly collapsing, and was caught by an overjoyed Lucy. Their gazes met, and they begam to laugh with relief. "Susan, this is—"

"—Mr Tumnus!" the elder cried, flinging herself to hug him.

James was staring at them with eyes wide, ears sideways, and jaw on the floor. "'I walked in a valley of dead bones,'" he quoth breathlessly, "'and God put flesh on the bones and breathed the breath of life into them, and they were alive.'"

Tumnus suddenly looked up from the embrace, catching sight of the sprite. He shoved himself in front of the girls, crying, "Get behind me!" The air between the faun and the sprite crackled with tension as the former waited for the latter to attack. "You coward," he scorned, "stalking these Daughters of Eve like prey—awaiting the opportunity to make your kill!" That one really hurt—she'd thought she'd left all the prejudice behind her.

James surged forward, ears pinned, teeth bared, to her defense.

"Mr Tumnus, she won't hurt us," Lucy told him; but the faun's countenance did not waver.

Instead, he turned his head to look at her. "I've already put you in danger once. I won't let it happen again."

"They are in no danger," Norrington growled, tail lashing. "She has been working with Aslan and the army from the start, and has been ostracized instead of appreciated for her efforts. Be a little more grateful; she is part of the reason we are here to save you."

Tumnus, partly in awe of the mion and partly in actual realization, dropped his aggression immediately and stared at the sprite. "Then you are not a coward at all," he said sincerely, looking her square in the eye with obvious admiration. "In fact, I'd say you were very brave to have defied your people and taken a stand, even when others were resentful of you." He awkwardly put out his left hand (as he had only once before shaken hands) and she grasped it and gave it one of her firm, manly shakes (although now not so manly, but for the size of her hand). "I am sorry I treated you so unjustly," he said, holding her hand a moment longer with a direct look.

"Given the circumstances, I have to admit that I do understand, however much I would enjoy being angry." She suddenly squeaked as something cold and wet landed in her free hand. She looked down to see the fox that held a shard of Jack's being, red leather collar shining with wet. She chirruped with excitement (a sound that sprites apparently make) and scooped up the canine—which was half as big as she was—without difficulty, cuddling him and pressing her face into his orange fur. "Everything's all right now," she sighed before looking up to meet James' gaze, eyes flashing. "Mission accomplished."

"That's all very well, but..." He flicked his ears, casting about for the right words.

"Come," Aslan interrupted them, several Narnians stirring back to life around him. "We must hurry and search the castle. Peter will need everyone we can find."

The two girls, faun, mion, and sprite, all exchanged expressions before following him into the dripping, melting castle, Curiosity leashed and obediently trotting along beside them. "Is there any danger to him now that the worst is past?" Norrington was finally able to mutter to the sprite.

"I don't think so." She twitched her ears subtly. "Why?"

"I want to stay and help."

"I thought you didn't want to get involved with the war?"

"Amy, look me in the eye and tell me truthfully." They stopped while the rest of the group went on ahead. She looked up and evenly met his intense, icy green gaze. "This story runs parallel to the Bible, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"Then we must fight. Our faith means to fight sin every day. Isn't that what this whole war is about?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I know what you mean. I want to stay and fight, too."

He laid a paw on her shoulder, as though proud of her, and they set off after the others.

———————————

He surprised her that afternoon, when he became a horse right in the middle of her shack. It must have been time, she supposed. He couldn't stay a man forever, after all. Still, it had scared the life out of her when the winds of transformation had blown through her home. He, on the other hand, seemed perfectly unconcerned, as though he knew this was natural for him even though he couldn't remember why he had to change. "Ya couldn' do dat ootside?" she scolded him, only half-serious. He took no notice of her, however. All sorts of smells and sounds were here that he hadn't been able to distinguish before as a man, and he proceeded to stick his nose into everything he could find.

But there was something odd about him now. His coat where it had been a dark bay, now had patches and areas where white fur flecked the brown, making a nice red roan in those places. She supposed the colour of his pelt was incomplete because he himself was incomplete. It was a curious thing, but she resolved not to be baffled by it, for her logic made sense.

———————————

They hurried down the halls and up into the towers of the melting castle, searching every room, every stairwell, every cell in the dungeon, searching for stone prisoners. At last, with a large regiment of Narnians behind them that would add a third again to the army, they set off toward the battleground, where every Narnian heart—and even those not Narnian—could feel a battle ragin on. One that Narnia would win only with their help. That knowledge lent speed to their strides.

Soon—where soon may mean a manner of minutes or over an hour—a great precipice of rock and boulders came into sight, and from beyond it, the sounds of battle; the clang of swords, the yells and noises, the neigh of horses, and the cries of pain.

Aslan roared once as they approached, the sound echoing off the rocks in the ravine, and then a second time as he came to the top, to be seen by all, louder and more ferocious than anything one had ever heard or imagined.

Susan, Lucy, Amy, Tumnus, and James watched from atop a boulder as the White Witch, adorned with Aslan's shorn mane from before his death, a chain mail gown, and a golden headpiece resembling a dragon, was locked in battle with Peter. She looked up when Aslan roared, however, and even from their distance, the five could head her gasp, "Impossible!"

"Improbable!" Amy cried at the top of her lungs, with tears of triumph prickling her eyes as the fresh wave of soldiers streamed past them into battle.

"Come on," James urged her, clawing at the ground with the tip of his boot and gripping his sword impatiently.

Amy was about the agree then she felt a touch on her shoulder, and she turned to see Tumnus crouching beside her. "It would be an honour to fight beside you both."

"An honour that shall be granted you," she replied eagerly (before noting how Narnian speech had rubbed off on her), and the three of them launched themselves into battle. Tumnus, having no weapon, was able to salvage a spear from a fallen faun, after tackling a hag and a minoboar. And so, the three of them fought, though aiming only to wound, for they knew themselves that the battle was already won.

And so it was; for moments later, it was declared that the Witch was dead, slain by Aslan himself, and all fighting ceased. The three stood and conversed, whilst Aslan and Lucy went about the battlefield with the breath of life and the healing juice of the fireflower.

Amy found that she liked the James McAvoy Tumnus much better than the book character. In fact, in the novel, she had only ever seen him as a whiny, snobby, weak person. But here, he was so easily likeable, and, more importantly, _real_ (not to mention brave and kind of cute. Okay, more than 'kind of').

A great feast awaited the troops that evening, held in celebration of their great victory. Seated between the mion and the faun, Ames eagerly tucked in, ignorant of manners (miffing proper James), though never rude. It was announced that the coronation would be held in two days. ("So soon," Ellie had remarked), in the halls of the castle Cair Paravel.

"Will another few days hurt us?" the mion muttered to the sprite. "Time-wise, I mean."

She shrugged. "I don't think so."

After supper, there was music and dance. Amy started out performing on flute with the band, and soon had the crowd in action with 'Meryton Townhall' (Pride and Prejudice). However, James Norrington sawr this as the perfect opportunity to teach her how to dance. He began by attempting to teach her a simple waltz, but their difference in height made things difficult. She found it much easier to learn the step-dance-like footwork of a faun celebration dance from Mr. Tumnus, which required no partners, but made an attractive picturesque with the faun dancing on one side of her and the mion joining in on the other, light on his feet as though he already knew the style of dance. (However, he is Scottish, not Irish, and such a fact confused the sprite.)

Amy later found herself dancing with Mr. Beaver (at last, someone as clumsy at dancing as she!), and then a very enthusiastic badger whose mate grew more jealous with each twirl and spin. She ended the night, however, doing a slow dance with Curiosity, placing his paws on her shoulders the way one would with a pet dog. The fox licked her face and grinned in the way that domestic foxes do, and the celebrations ended with the soft melodies of Narnian lullabies (played exquisitely by Mr Tumnus) accompanying everyone to their tents and leading them to a content and well-deserved slumber.

Two days later, everyone had gathered in the halls of Cair Paravel by the Great Sea. The white marble and stone were beautiful, and Amy couldn't help but to admire the architecture of the place. She had never been inside a castle before—the closest she had ever come was an historic college in her hometown.

Centaurs lined the aisle, flags and spears presented, and behind and around them, the rest of the company. A fanfare announced the beginning of the ceremony, and Edmund, Peter, Aslan, Susan, and Lucy, all adorned like royalty but for the lion, who was royalty enough by appearance alone, processed down the aisle, toward the four thrones. The two beavers followed, bearing the crowns on maroon cushions lined with gold, and behind them, Tumnus and James.

The Pevensies went to their thrones and stood, facing the audience, while Aslan turned and addressed the company. "To the glistening Eastern Sea, I give you Queen Lucy, the Valiant." Tumnus took up the small crown and carefully, gently, placed it on the young girl's head. "To the great Western Wood, King Edmund, the Just." This one the mion crowned, bowing as the young king rose from his kneeling. They exchanged a small smile, before the coronation continued. "To the radiant Southern Sun, Queen Susan, the Gentle." Tumnus stooped to pick up the fragile-looking crown adorned with yellow-gold daffodils, and Susan curtseyed to receive it. And finally, "And to the clear Northern Sky, I give you King Peter, the Magnificent." James, praying that he would not mess up now of all times, placed the golden crown on the High King, and bowed away. He and Tumnus retreated to opposite ends of the terrace and bowed low, as Aslan turned to the newly-anointed royalty. "Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen. May your wisdom grace us until the stars rain down from the heavens."

Then came the 'all hails' and much cheering. "Long live King Peter! Long live King Edmund! Long live Queen Susan! Long live Queen Lucy!" And thus was the ceremony over, to be followed by a feast even greater than that which had followed their victory over the Witch.

James approached Amy in the crowded and musical hall, and after conversing for a few moments, they went to join Lucy and Tumnus on a balcony overlooking the Sea as they watched Aslan padding away along the lapping waves, not to be seen again for some time. "So Aslan leaves, so must we also," the sprite murmured as she gazed at the great lion.

Tumnus turned to her in surprise. "So soon?"

"Our purpose here is finished, and the prophecy is fulfilled," James replied. "We've done what we came to do, and more."

"We'll miss you," Lucy said tearily, and James, beaten into submission by a cuteness factor, hugged her quickly before she scampered away to find her siblings.

Amy herself was drawn into a hug by the faun. "The prophecy has been fulfilled," she repeated softly. There was a flash of light and the ground shifted beneath her boots; suddenly Mr Tumnus didn't seem so big. In fact, he was nearly at eye level with her, and his expression of shock mirrored her own. She looked down at herself, and saw that she was again human, brown haired and un-pointy-eared.

She looked over at James to see that he, too, was human, and looking very confused as he felt at his beard. They stared at one another for a few moments, as though they had forgotten what the other looked like. "What's happening?" the former-mion asked, almost with concern. "Why are we like this _now_?"

"I-I think it's because of the prophecy. Now that it's come to pass, there can be other humans here, which includes us."

At the enquiring look from the faun, Ames launched into a brief, though detailed, explanation—for it made sense about there being more than one world here in this Realm. When she had finished, she nudged James and said, "Come on, we should say goodbye to Peter and them." She led the way back into the great hall, the other two following, and began to navigate her way through the crowd.

The creatures parted around them, and they could feel the stares prickling their skin, and the hushed exclamations of surprise and recognition. "Can that be the very sprite we distrusted? Here she was a Daughter of Eve all along."

"And see the way her companion carries himself—surely he is the mion!"

"Do you see anybody?" Ames murmured to James.

"No, I—"

"Father!" they heard Edmund cry, and he broke through the crowd, followed closely by Peter, Susan, and Lucy as they all hurled themselves at Norrington. "You came to find us!"

"I knew you seemed familiar, but I never thought—" Peter.

"I can't believe you've come back—" Susan.

"You grew a beard—" This from Lucy.

The four continued talking all at once, and so their silence was sharply felt when James abruptly pulled away from them, backing away another few paces for good measure. "No," he said breathlessly, looking around at them like a cornered animal. Was that fear? "I'm not—I mean I acted as though I was, but I'm not—," his voice was shaking, as though a common case of mistaken identity had shaken him to the core.

"Father," Lucy stepped closer—and he backed another pace away—, "what are you—?"

"Weren't you listening?" he snapped, beginning to lose composure. "I am not now, nor have I even been your father—Amy, get me out of here," he pleaded desperately.

She only nodded, placing her pinkies in her mouth and whistling. Curiosity came bounding toward her, and she picked him up. "I'm terribly sorry for the misunderstanding," she said to the Pevensies with a look that said she was as confused as they were. "It's been a blessing getting to know you and fight by your side, but," she spared a sympathetic look at James, who was staring at the ground, trying to detach himself from the situation her, and looking very troubled, "we really should be going." She walked over to the armoured figure and slid her hand into his.

He looked at her, blinking in confusion and frustration. "I'm not, right?" he mumbled. "I can't be."

She cupped his cheek, but didn't answer, instead turning back to the four. "Thanks for everything, and farewell." With that, much to the surprise of those crowded around to see, the two—and their fox—disappeared in a whirlwind of turquoise, where the magicker had learned to change the colour of her teleporting mist.

* * *

All right, I know that's not the greatest place to end the chapter. It was originally longer, but I decided it was best to split things us a bit. That being said, the next chapter, though short, is finished, and the chapter after that has already fifteen pages written.

Please give me the courtesy of leaving a review—criticism, praise, anything but flames. Thank you.


	29. The Constellation

Heyy! I've had this done since before I updated last time, but I like giving myself time to get ahead of myself. Now I'm a chapter and a half ahead of updates! Monday is our last day of school, and we're all dressing up as pirates (myself specifically as Jack...WOOO!!). I am gonna get shot one day, haha...

HEY! Six reviews! That's a little better! (Although I still tend to set my standard at seven reviews per chapter, and as of late it has been five...)

**Swann-Shooter: **I'm so glad you're enjoying it! Have you gotten a chance to read its prequel, Hoofin' It?

**Captain Rika Kisuktai, RespectTheSporks, **and **Little Miss Sparrow:** I knew that one would be a shocker. It'll be explained in this chapter.

**Inwë:** You know, I have yet to see it. I think me and a friend are going to see it during finals this week.

**Disclaimer****:** **Disney Official 1: **With the wind a quarter astern, we won't catch them!  
**Disney Official 2:** We don't need to catch them, just get them in range of the long nines.  
**Disney Official 1:** Hands, come about! Run out the guns! We are to fire on our own franchise, sir?  
**Disney Official** **2:** I would rather see her at the bottom of the ocean than in the hands of a fangirl.

**Chapter Twenty Nine: Vacation**

James blinked as marble turned to sand beneath his feet. Wait—sand? He looked up to see that they were on a beach—perhaps that of a small island. "Where have you brought us?" he asked.

"The rumrunners' isle—the one Jack's guv'nor of. You've been here once before, though I think you landed on the opposite shore," the lass replied, setting down the fox and beginning to walk along the beach, tugging once or twice on the leash so that he would heel. James followed.

"But why?"

"I thought you might need some time. You know, away from everything. I would have brought you to Fortitude's Last Berth if I knew where it was. Solitude and a vacation. That's all."

And so they strolled in silence, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves and the occasional cry of a sea bird over head. Amy kept waiting for him to calm down so they could talk, but he never did, remaining deep in thought all the while, opening his mouth every few moments as though about to say something, and then abruptly closing it again. After several minutes, he stopped, mumbled "I'm going fishing," and promptly pulled off his boots and coat, &c. until he stood in only shirt and trousers (for she had poofed him out of his armour), and waded out into the sparkling blue shallows to wait for the fish.

She sat down cross-legged in the sand to watch. Curiosity nudged her, and she suddenly felt compelled to explore. "Oh stop that," she told the emotion. "I can't leave him just yet." To get rid of the manifestation's influence on her, and figuring he wouldn't be able to get far given that they were on a small island, she removed his leash and set him loose. Almost at once, he bounded into the jungle and disappeared amidst the green.

She turned back to James. Even from here, she could see shaped swimming around him as though he were but a strange rock or coral formation. Amy wondered at how he could stay so still; if she were to try, she would probably have begun to shake, as one tends to do when they have held a position for too long.

As it were, a larger shape was coursing through the rest—Amy supposed it was a small shark—coming closer, closer. James shifted slowly, smoothly, without disturbing the water, hands stretching out, ready and waiting for the opportune moment. And then he pounced, his hands darted into the water and pulled out the fish. Before it could struggle out of his grasp, he hurled it toward the shore, where it slopped helplessly on the sand. Unable to watch it die in such a way, Amy raised a hand, hooking her fingers as though holding a doorknob, and suddenly turned her hand to one side. The fish ceased its movement. "Nice catch," she murmured to James as he came up beside her, eyes aglow with satisfaction. "What kind is it?"

"Dogfish," he said promptly. "It's actually a shark, if you believe it."

"Either way it looks like we'll have full bellies tonight!"

"Aye. Will you gather some firewood? I'll get to preparing it."

She nodded obligingly and proceeded along the beach, where she began to collect bark and driftwood. Once into the trees, she spotted a flash of orange, and nearly jumped out of her skin as the fox pounced on a trailing palm frond, before laughing and picking up a stick. She hurled it out of the trees, to the glittering white sand, and he took off after it. For a few moments, she stared after him with a small smile, before resuming her search for more timber.

By the time she returned to their camp, James had already built up a pile of logs and driftwood that made Amy realize that some of the larger pieces she had collected were mere kindling to these huge chunks of tree. And so, with the help of a little magic, they got a small cooking fire going and toasted their fish (even James did, complaining that this type of fish was unhealthy to eat raw), and quenching their thirst with coconut water.

As darkness began to fall, they got the fire going big and hot, its flames easily reaching ten feet into the air—or higher! Ames and James sat side by side in the sand, watching the flames dancing perhaps a jive, or, if one wants to be more period, maybe a paso doble, and embers glittering through the air like falling stardust.

"So are you better now?" she murmured to him, in reference to the case of mistaken identity in Narnia, where the Pevensie children had thought him to be their father; he had reacted in a rather negative and peculiar manner.

"I suppose so," he replied with a sift smile.

"What...What exactly happened? I mean, why did it seem to trouble you so much?"

He stared into the fire, thinking on his words carefully before speaking. "It...it startled me. But more than that, something happened to me—something..." He trailed off, casting about for a means of explaining such a concept, running a hand through his bushy hair (at last, no longer scraggly!). "I believed that I was not their father. I knew I wasn't, and I couldn't remember ever having been such. But...When they said it, it felt right. I felt like they _were_ my children. I _believed_ I was their father, when at the same time I _knew_ I wasn't. I _knew_." His eyes found hers, and she saw his unease. "I believed two contrary things at once, and it scared me." He took a deep breath to calm himself after re-living the memory.

Amy looked thoughtfully into the fire. A hunch was growing. "James," she said at length, "you once said that your name was an alias, right?"

He was hesitant to answer. "Yes. To escape persecution as son of a witch."

There was a long silence before she asked, "What was your original name?"

He stared at her, and she could see that he was having a hard time of recalling it. "I...don't remember," he finally stuttered, with a look of defeat. "I've been Norrington for so long..."

The lass frowned. "But you were definitely never a Pevensie in this life?"

"No," he replied resolutely.

"No, no," she was muttering even before he had answered. "Name wouldn't matter anyways. You must have a parallel in that world that is their father. You don't need to share a name, just an existence—or something like that," she waved a hand vaguely. "One person can be many in the Realms, after all. For instance, in my world, your parallel would be Jack Davenport—the actor who plays you in the films. You're the same person, leading different lives. Or Captain Greenleaf and Gordy the Janitor. They're the same person, but not."

James blinked slowly. "That makes sense in a confusing sort of way," he said with a lopsided smile.

She gave him a sympathetic look. "Sorry."

He only widened his grin and pulled her to him in a one-armed embrace as they resumed staring into the fire.

—————————————

"Do you see that one there? That bright one?"

"Yeah?"

"That is the bowsprit of the great ship, the _Constellation_."

"Creative name."

"Oh come now. You have to admit, it's a good name for a ship, even if she _is_ made of stars."

"I see it now! It really _is_ shaped like a ship."

James lifted his head from the sand to look at her. "Beg pardon?"

"Look." Amy began to weave her arms with spellmaking, and when he looked up, he could see more stars, which had not been there before, making up the shape of a light, two-masted galleon. Dark clouds swirled around to fill in the places where the sails would have been, as well as spiraling into cloudy waves as the heavenly vessel took sail across the sky.

James sighed with content. "Beautiful."

"So what's her story?"

"Hmm?"

"You know, the legend about how she got into the sky."

"Oh." He propped himself up on his elbows, donning the storytelling voice he had developed from all the tales he had been begged to tell the ship's boys and midshipmen. "Well... ... It has long been told that the _Constellation_ was a ship that sailed herself, a spirit all her own. She was the swiftest and most powerful ship in the world, and all sailors coveted her. Men tried to capture and command her, but she was nimble and always evaded their traps. But one man succeeded, after chasing her relentlessly across the seven seas and at last trapping her in the shallows of treacherous shoals. Once in captivity, thought, the _Constellation_ longed tor the freedom to roam the seas, seas which no one knew but her.

"But her captain was harsh and cruel, and handled her roughly. He forced her to sail even at night, when she otherwise might have been resting. On these nights, she would look up at the sky and see the stars stretching out beyond the horizons. 'I would I were a star, that no man could ever catch me,' she thought. And so, one night, when her captain was asleep in port (and him having no crew, for the ship sailed herself), she took up her anchors and stole away to the sky. She has sailed beyond the clouds ever since."

"Let me guess," the lass grinned, "Hannah told you that one."

"Actually no." James crossed his arms behind his head. "I heard it from the quartermaster of the _Falcon_ when I first became a ship's boy. Did you know that the bowsprit is also the Great Western Star?"

"_Really?_ We don't have a West Star in my world. Just a North one."

James chuckled. "It is said that the _Constellation_ is sailing west so that the rising of the sun in the East cannot fade her light."

"That's cool," she commented after a moment's thought.

They watched the ship sail through the clouds. "Oh—look! Someone's fired across her bow!" Amy pointed at a shooting star.

"Make a wish."

All their troubles forgotten, she replied, "I couldn't possibly think of anything to wish for."

"Nor I."

And such was their carefree conversation as the night wore on and the fire burned like a beacon on the beach; not a care in the world, nor a sense of urgency or danger. Perhaps if it had not been night, someone would have noticed white sails on the horizon.

* * *

Wow, so this is the length of the chapters I wrote when I was first starting out. It was lucky if it was four pages, or maybe if I was feeling imaginative, five, like this one. Funny, ain't it?

Yeah I know it was short and more of a filler chapter than anything, but it's my second favourite chapter in this story—my fave-favourite is the next chapter, which is completely done, and sure to be a shocker. Chapter 31 has a head start, as it were.

Watching the Belmont Stakes as we speak. GO BIG BROWN! Win that Triple Crown! WOO!

So, review, yeah? Thanks. (HORSIES!!)


	30. Broken Glass

Well, it's only been two weeks since my last update, and there have been precious few reviews, but as long as said reviewers do not abandon me, and as long as said reviews are appreciative (although the occasional constructive criticism would not be amiss), I shall write on.

Why am I updating so soon? After all, my schedule divides updates by nigh a month. Well, the thing of it is, I'm ahead on my chapters, which means I can start cranking them out just a little faster. **And,** more importantly, I'm going to **Guatemala** tomorrow for the next week and a half, and won't have the chance to put up any chapters in that time.

So enjoy—not only this chapter, but the fact that you have the privilege of reading it in the comfort of an air conditioned room, while I sweat my bloody little arse off in a country where all my German-speaking skills are worthless. Anybody know how to learn Spanish in one night?...

**Authoressinhiding:** No, Big Brown was eased up coming into the stretch. The jockey was asking him for more, but he wasn't responding, so he decided 'Well I'm not coming in first, I'm not coming int second or third, so I'm gonna take care of my horse,' and after running third for most of the race, they just cantered home at dead last. (And by canter, I mean a slow gallop.) I never did find out what happened. Shame though. I really thought he would take the Crown.

**Disclaimer****:** **In the course of my fanfic-writing career, James Norrington has been beaten, bitten, tortured, injured, killed, killed again, been emo, depressed, suicidal, and mentally ill. The fangirls would have killed me by now if I owned it. XP**

**Chapter Thirty (wow): Something's Not Right.**

Morning. James was awakened by the shuffling of feet and murmuring of voices. He sensed that he was surrounded by others, but he struggled to wake fully, and could not rouse his senses. "Who's he?" someone asked as he stirred.

"Is 'e dead?" another asked.

"Wait," said a new voice, which seemed vaguely familiar. "I know him." Feet shuffled in the sand, and someone kicked his foot a few times to wake him.

James startled awake, nearly bolting upright only to find that, had he done so, he would have impaled himself on the bayonet pointed at his chest. Blinking away the sleep, he finally saw that he was surrounded by redcoats (though only the one had arms at the ready). There, standing at his feet, the one who had wakened him, the one who had been his closest friend and was now staring at him with a cold dislike: Theodore Groves. Norrington looked about the beach, but there was no sign of Amy. Had they already caught her? No, he would hear her putting up a fight if that were the case.

Observations and assessments of the situation complete, he turned his gaze back to Theodore, and blinked. "Morning," he rumbled pleasantly, as though there were no firearm pointed at his heart. "Fancy meeting you here."

"We saw the fire," Groves explained curtly.

James rolled his eyes at his own carelessness, and in doing so, saw something amiss. "Theodore, I must say that your soldier's bayonet is quite crooked," he changed the subject, reaching for the edge of the musket. The soldier jabbed him in the chest with it. "Calm down, I'm just straightening it out." Calmly, he unscrewed the knife to fix it. "Jumpy, aren't they?" His gaze flitted to Theodore's. "Have you not taught your men better?"

"Fortunately they are not my men."

"Ah. You're just in charge of them."

"Solely for this expedition."

"So it's you, then," James said in soft irony, without looking up. "It's not even polished! What _are_ they teaching them these days?" He wiped the blade on his shirt as the soldier looked on warily. "Honestly. How new to this are you?"

"I've been in the service for two years."

"Under faulty leadership, no doubt." The soldier jabbed the musket at him. Only laughing softly that he had offended the redcoat, though careful not to make any sudden movements, James screwed the bayonet back onto the musket, then held his hands palm-out to show the soldier that he made no threat. What they didn't know was that while he had been polishing the blade on his shirt, he had gotten his knife at the ready, and now, as he lowered his hands, it slid unseen into his grasp.

"Thank you," the soldier said curtly, although now he no longer expected the prisoner to attack.

"You're welcome." And he promptly stabbed his knife into the soldier's foot. In the ensuing moment of confusion, he wrenched the gun out of his grasp, somersaulting backwards onto his feet, and turned to flee. Blasted island! There was nowhere to run. But wait, what of the rum locker? They didn't know where it was, and if he could lose them just long enough, he would be able to hide, and they'd have little luck finding him. But what about Amy? He could not just leave her, wherever she might be. Who knew what the Navy might have done with her? If he let them catch him, there was a good chance they would leave without ever knowing of her presence. And then she would come after him anyway, which put a damper on that plan.

All the while that he was thinking, he was dodging through the trees. Pistol fire rang out around him (as even these soldiers were not so incompetent to have come to claim him totally unarmed.) Fear sped through him; they might shoot the girl! _Amy?_ he thought frantically, desperately hoping that she was in his mind.

_I'm here. I hear gunshots. What's going on?_

_No time to explain. Are you safe? Are you hidden?_

_I'm fine. We've bunkered down in the rum locker._

He winced. So he could have hidden there after all. Too late now, and besides, the Navy would just wait for them to come out for food, anyway. _They're right on my tail._

_Who?!_

_The Navy. I'm going to let them catch me._ Even as he thought this, he doubled back toward the beach.

_What? Why!_

He smiled humorlessly, slowing his pace so that the company could catch up. _Well, love, I'd really rather not be shot, you know?_ There. They had cornered him in the shallows. He laughed with amusement at his predicament. "The isolation of an island—a blessing and a curse." He tossed his knife out of reach and raised his hands in surrender.

"Indeed," Groves replied coldly. "Truss him up and bring him aboard." And so, the soldiers roughly pulled his hands behind his back and clapped him in irons—much rougher than necessary—and led him to the long boat. As they kicked off, rowing toward the ship-of-the-line not far off, he only stared silently at the jungles they were leaving behind, where he knew Amy was watching.

Several minutes later, they bumped lightly against the hull of the huge ship, and a rope ladder was thrown down. Flanked by redcoats, all with weapons pointed at him, he was unbound, and climbed onto the deck of what he observed to be the _Oblivion_—which he knew held the nickname of _No-Second-Chances. _Well that just made everything better, didn't it? When his bare feet touched the planks, his arms were tightly restrained by a handful of lobsters. He didn't struggle; rather only looked around. _At last! A Navy ship!_ It seemed so long since he had been on a ship—and even longer since he's been on what he considered to be a 'decent' ship. Despite the fact that these 'decent' ships were now the ones that pursued him as he had once pursued others.

"Sparrow's island, was it?" he heard Groves sneer behind him "Been consorting with pirates again?"

James shrugged, despite his restraints. "Beats consorting with reptiles."

"That would be Captain Mandel," a new voice corrected him, and he looked up to see said captain, a cruel-looking man with anger lines on his face and a perpetual scowl.

"Like I said," the rebel replied cheekily.

Mandel surged forward until he and Norrington were nose to nose, glaring dangerously. "Why you miserable little—."

"What?" he was cut off. "Swine? Bastard? How about scum? Would you like tea with that? Surely, with two lumps of son of a bitch, and a generous helping of bilge rat on the side." Amy would have been proud. And surprised. "Can't make up your mind?" He tsked. "Behold the great captain! Can't even decide on a fitting insult."

Mandel's face only twisted into a slimy evil smile. "I see a mouse," he said. "One that the cat will surely catch." Ah, so it was to be the nine-tailed whip.

James met his gaze with a silent challenge. "Let's have it then."

Obviously frustrated by his prey's lack of fear, Mandel shouted, "Bosun! Let the cat out of the bag!"

"How many, sir?"

"Twelve."

"Yes, Captain. Remove his shirt and shackle him to the mast!" the burly boatswain ordered.

James was forced to the mast, where he barely had time enough to undress before he was roughly locked into chains that would prevent him from dodging the strike of the whips. "You know, a little courtesy wouldn't hurt," he muttered as the redcoats stepped out of range of the 'cat, but they ignored him. With a sigh, he braced himself against the mast, leaning forward and presenting his back, already laced with old scars of battle and punishment.

He listened as the whip was unraveled and checked for weakness in the leather. It whistled out and bits of glass and metal scored across his back, tearing at flesh, biting into his shoulders. He did not flinch. In fact, he sighed. Ah, pain. It felt so good, this kind of pain. It sent fire through his being; it made him feel alive. The whip tore at him again, and again. After the fifth, he only chuckled and said, "I do believe your man is holding back. Is this the best you've got?" Even as he spoke, the flogging continued, and his voice skipped on the words 'do' and 'best' when the leather met his back.

He sensed Amy enter his mind. She had been swimming after them, and now was clinging to the bulwarks, watching the scene in shock. _They're bloody whipping you!_

_Thanks, love, I hadn't noticed._

_What for?!_

_I was, ah, a bit loose with my tongue, you might say._

"Bosun," the captain replied to the earlier comment, "Harder. And give him an extra ten for his own enjoyment."

This time, James grunted in pain, jerking involuntarily at his shackles. A subtle smile spread across his face, and he closed his eyes. "That's more like it," he mumbled with satisfaction.

_Hang in there, James! I'll get you out!_ And he could sense her beginning to use her magic.

_No!_ He felt her bewilderment in his mind. _They could find you out, and then where would you be? Burning again. Do not risk the stake—not for something I have experienced before._

_But James— _

_It's not a question, Amy._ He gasped in pain, and shuddered in pleasure. _Do not risk the stake again. I'll be fine._ He severed their connection before she could protest further.

The twelve were nearly up, and he could feel the warm wet of blood as it spilled down his back. But even as the twelfth was cast, something was slowly beginning to happen—something scary and abnormal. Grunts of pain transformed into a low laughter. And unnatural kind of laughter. Any man standing on the other side of the mast could see him smile in such a disconcerting way as the second ten commenced.

And soon, that smile turned to rage—or, to put things more rightly, it had been rage all along. Amy, who had distanced herself from the event at James' orders not to interfere, realized too late what was happening as the man suddenly jerked around to face the redcoats, snapping his chains as though they were cheap linen. The 'cat had already been cast, but he easily caught the leather straps and ripped them from the bosun's hand. With a very mion-like snarl, he leapt at the nearest redcoat, pinning him to the deck.

In a smooth movement, before any man could so much as cock their hammer, he rolled off his victim, taking a pistol and sword with him. When he regained his feet, he was surrounded by redcoats, all with guns at the ready, yet all intimidated by the wild look in his eyes.

Captain Mandel, finally looking somewhat concerned, stepped forward, only to find the madman's pistol trained on him; immediately, all the muskets were in turn pointed at him. "What do you want, Mr Norrington?"

There was a long silence. "My mother," James slurred. Mandel was about to relax, thinking him to have the mental and emotional capacity of a child, as some do, before the man went on in an outraged snarl through gritted teeth, "You killed her! Give her back."

"Whoever this woman is, if she's dead then she cannot be brought back to—."

"Then you will die too!" But before he could pull the trigger, the redcoats and lieutenants darted between them, herding him away and blocking his aim. Seeming to lose spirit, he backed away from them, holding up the sword and pistol defensively. They followed him, ready to corner him, until he backed into the bulwarks. Crying out in pain and anger, for the wounds on his back had hit the wood and left a bloody mark, he proceeded to whirl around and hack a chunk out of the offending rail.

The company saw this as an opportunity to tighten their proximity, but James whirled around again, before they could make their move, sword and gun ready for attack. His wild ice-green eyes scanned over the redcoats, midshipmen, lieutenants, and other officers, with a predatory gaze, waiting for any man to make a wrong move. "Steady men," the captain ordered, watching them as though observing a cricket match. "No sudden movements."

Amy, at last seeing an opportunity, scurried along the top of the bulwarks with almost perfect balance toward her kin. Groves, who was nearest the rail, looked sharply at her, and with momentary shock, recognized her. "Stop, Miss Norrington," he hissed.

She acknowledged him with only a glance as she ignored his order—or perhaps a plea—and continued on her way. Spotting movement at the edge of his vision, James suddenly trained the pistol on her, sword still held defensively against the Navy men. She met his gaze and was chilled by the barren coldness there, like a tundra wasteland. For a few moments, she stared shakily down the barrel not ten feet away. Then, taking a deep breath, she cocked her head and donned a pleasant expression. "Ja-ames," she crooned in her most soothing, sing-song motherly voice. Something changed in his eyes—she didn't know what; they were still wild, but they were _his _now—and though the firearm was still pointed at her, she felt that she could climb down from the bulwarks and so approach him, slowly, smoothly, with a pleasant and innocent smile.

"Aren't you tired of being unhappy all the time?" she asked softly, walking past the weapon to meet him face to face. He made no move to adjust his aim. In fact, he continued to stare at the place where she had been standing. He gave no indication that he had heard what she'd said, but she knew he was listening. At a loss for anything else to say or do, she hugged him, wrapping her arms about his waist where the injuries from the flogging seemed to be the least. Resting her head against his shoulder and trying not to cry, she could hear and feel his heart dancing a frantic jig.

Slowly, painfully slowly, his arms began to lower until they were at his sides, the weapons drooping and pointing nowhere. Tremors ran through him as he struggled to regain control, and, gasping with the effort, he jerked his hands open, and the sword and pistol fell to the deck. Amy sighed with relief and leaned against him as his arms wrapped around her and he nuzzled into her hair. She could feel him shaking. "My head hurts," he whispered to her, sounding on the verge of tears. "So much."And his embrace weakened as he dropped in a dead faint.

"James!" She tried to catch him, easing him to the ground, though still holding his shoulders and head. She touched his face to wake him, but he was out cold. "You poor thing," she whispered, cupping his cheek and laying him down. She wanted to cry—for him going through that, and for her almost being shot—but as usual, no tears would come.

Groves crept warily closer. "All right, men, he's done."

"Carry him to the brig," a man Amy assumed ro be first lieutenant ordered.

"Are you mad?" the girl cried. "Take him to the sick bay! He needs to be cared for."

The man surged forward, and she met him unflinchingly. _Yup, she's definitely a Norrington_, Groves thought as he observed her composure. "You should know your place, _girl_," the first mate growled.

"Oh I'm perfectly aware of my place, thank you," she replied hotly, "although _you_, sirrah, could stand to receive further education." She turned to appeal to Groves instead. "A cage is no place for a madman, nor an injured man, and this one is both. If his back gets infected, he could well die, which would mean you've killed him—and, well, you know how things are about killing the insane..." And she dearly hoped that killing the insane was a societal taboo. Her expression softened with the plea. "At least until his back is better."

Groves looked up at the first mate, then to the captain. "I suppose a few days couldn't hurt, now could it?" he asked as though he didn't care which way it went.

"Let it be done," the captain ordered, looking disdainfully at the unconscious form. "We'll let the government do with him what they will."

"I'll help you carry him," the lass offered.

Groves rolled his eyes. "Well since you seem to get your way anyway..."

She smiled shyly. "Take his feet when you lead; if we drop him going down the companionway, he'll land on his feet and not his head."

"Sound plan." Groves took James' feet, and the lass lifted him by the shoulders, head lolling, with little difficulty, which surprised the former and most of the crew, and they proceeded belowdecks to the sickbay. They set him down on his side on a bed in one of the cabins reserved for overnight patients. It was a small room, with a bed bolted to the deck, its posters reaching up to the ceiling, a small bureau complete with looking glass and a built-in basin, a wooden chair, and a single, though pleasant window that let in the golden sunlight. In one far corner, a nice arm chair. In the other, a small chest. She immediately liked the room.  
(And here, in her journal, the authoress sketched a lovely drawring of said delightful cabin, which looks almost nothing like the way she pictured it in her mind.)

The surgeon walked in and Groves rose to confer with him in hushed voices. Amy only caught snippets of their conversation as she kneeled beside her brother (as she had begun to thing of him, rather than uncle or nephew), and watched him sleep. "...was flogged. ...started laughing. ...right out of his chains. ...nearly shot the girl. ...absolutely mad..." After a while, she drowned it all out, and was thus surprised a few minutes later when a hand came down on her shoulder. She looked up to see Groves gazing down at her sympathetically. "The surgeon has agreed to take care of him. He's gone to fetch his things; we ought to be out of here before he returns."

"We?"

"Unless you wish to roam the ship alone—I wouldn't advise it. Are you hungry?" he offered.

"Starving," she had to admit.

"Then let's find you some food." She rose wearily and, with a long look at James, she stalked out of the room. Theodore walked over to his former friend and lay a hand on his arm. "Don't worry," he promised, "I'll take care of her." Sighing at the circumstances of the day, he straightened up and left the room where the lass, who had been waiting outside, joined him.

———————————

She was pleasantly surprised when they reached the galley. It was large and spacious, and was well-lit by sunlight—a polar opposite from the dark, cozy kitchens of the _Black Pearl_ or the _Sunrise_, though she imagined that, when it was crammed with crew and soldiers, this place would be just as snug. But right now, with its two long, mostly empty tables, it was an open, luxurious dining hall. A handful of redcoats were seated toward the far end of one of the tables, having a conversation over light helpings of hard tack and water—the latter surprised her, for she had not been expecting anything other than ale.

"Impressed?" Groves asked with mostly-hidden amusement.

"Let's just say I've seen worse. What kind of ship is she?"

"War galleon. One of the largest of her kind in His Majesty's fleet. Larger even than most first-rate ships-of-the-line." Yup. Impressive.

He pulled back a chair for her, and, startled, she stammered, "Oh... Thank you," and was seated.

"Now, what can I get for you?"

"What's on the menu?"

"Well, aside from salt pork and sauerkraut, let's see... Oh, it looks like the cook has just put out the daily chowder. Would you like some of that?"

"What's in it?"

The leftenant winced. "We've learned not to ask."

The lass surprised him by laughing. "Sounds perfect! As long as it smells good, I'm game."

Smiling, he went to negotiate a helping from the cook. "There you are," he set a crock of steaming soup before her, along with a napkin and a metal spoon, as opposed to wood like others. He set a stein nearby. "I wasn't sure if ale would do—."

"I can't say I'm much of a beer drinker, but don't worry, it's fine," she assured him. "Although some rum or Irish Cream wouldn't be amiss..." But Bailey's probably hadn't been invented yet. "Itadakimasu!" she said in way of thanks for the meal, delving into the soup before she could speculate on what was in it. It was white and creamy, with chunks of potatoes in it, as well as clam, and she speculated the recipe was an improvised version of—or perhaps predecessor to—the famous New England clam chowder of which she was so fond in her own world. There was a scattering of other vegetables and meats as well, such as bits of shark she identified, like what she and James had shared the previous night. There were other things in there she couldn't identify, and tasted strange, that made the girl glad she had no food allergies.

She had to force herself to slow down a few times, though—she hadn't eaten all day—because one, she would probably make herself sick, and b, the officer who had seated himself beside her was probably expecting at least _some_ level of civility...

When finished, she pushed the empty crock away and leaned back in her chair, dabbing at her mouth with the napkin. "You certainly went through that quickly," Groves commented.

"I skipped breakfast," she replied. "I'm usually never hungry until very late in the morning, and by that time, James was being beaten into insanity for God-knows-why."

"And how was it?" the Lieutenant obtusely went on about the chowder. "Not too potent, I hope?"

"You just don't care, do you?" she asked in her I-only-sound-calm-because-the-brain-is-a-fragile-thing voice.

"I'm not at liberty to say, Miss—."

"Not true. You're at liberty to say 'No, I don't care,' but not at liberty to say 'Yes I do.'" Ah, barely into the argument and she was already running logical circles around him. Amid her irritation, the girl felt a mild satisfaction about that feat; it was a new record! "But then, if your answer had been 'No,' you would have said so. Since you didn't, and you're not at liberty to say what you want, I suppose that is answer enough in itself." She paused to think carefully on her next words. "But if you did care, why didn't you at least even try to stop it from happening?"

"What, the flogging? I hate to be rude, but he was asking for it, with all the cheek he was giving Mandel. He wasn't insane when it first started out, and when things started to slide out of control, I would have been risking it all to defend him in _any _state of mind—."

"Dammit, he's your friend!" she surprised him again, as well as the redcoats farther down, whose heads shot up to look at her. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

Groves could only stare. After a long, tense silence, he finally managed some level of humour. "Do people your age often ask such difficult questions?"

"Only when the people they're asking aren't thinking enough."

———————————

He blinked his eyes open, finally awake. He was lying on his side in a bunk, facing the opposite wall of what he recognized to be an overnight sickbay cabin. He tried to shift position, and upon finding that he could not move, suddenly wondered if he had died. Gradually, he became aware of the pain—that which reminds us all that we are still alive—in every inch of his body. Amid the terrible aching in his arms, torso, and legs, and the pounding in his head, he vaguely recognized the distantly familiar sting of a salve on the wounds scoring his back, and felt bandages and poultices shifting as he breathed.

For a brief moment, he tried to piece together in his mind what had happened; the events that had led up to his being admitted into an overnight cabin. But the pain in his head made it difficult to think clearly, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut as the room spun violently. And so, disoriented and exhausted, he retreated to a semiconscious state.

The cool feel of a damp cloth on his forehead momentarily roused him. His eyes fluttered, and in that fleeting glimpse, he thought he saw his mother. He lost consciousness almost immediately, but his single waking thought followed to him to his dreams: he didn't know if it had been dear Amy, or his mother's spirit who had been comforting him, but one thing was for sure; at least he was no longer alone.

Amy had stirred from her thoughts when his eyes opened. "James?" she murmured hopefully. She badly wanted to talk to him. But he was already out. She sighed and dropped the rag into the wooden basin, the water sloshing softly. Se ran her eyes over his body. Around his sides was bruising, just from the sheer force with which he'd broken his chains. Those chains—or rather, what was left of them—had not been removed. Instead, they had been bolted to the bedpost. He would have been tied to the bed, but the doctor had insisted he would be better off on his side than on just his stomach, or worse, his poor back. One of his shoulders was badly swollen—and it wasn't the usual one—and the lass was certain he'd torn something, or perhaps dislocated. The thought of the latter possibility brought to surface worry over the hip that had been dislocated so many months ago. He had put an enormous strain on his body to have broken free of his restraints, and now he was paying for it. With another sigh, she touched his cheek before standing and walking out of the room.

She found her way topside, pensive, and breathed deep the salty sea air—it had really been too long since she felt the pitch and the roll of the sea beneath her feet. It had been several weeks in Narnia, when here it had really been a little more than two days (although she did not know this, still thinking it had passed as merely a moment). In the corner of her eye, she noticed Captain Mandel approaching her, face taut with a strict discipline. Before he could address her, she turned and headed for the ratlines, scaling them with the ease of a rated ordinary sailor. She felt the surprised stares of several crew watching as she monkeyed up the mast and into the shrouds, but she forced herself to ignore them. She was going up to think, not show off.

At last, she hauled herself onto the platform that served as crow's nest and, leaning against what was left of the mast (for it only extended a little farther up), looked out over the rolling sapphire waves to the horizon. It was such a pleasant day, and she was forced not to enjoy it. In fact, she wished this day had never had a chance to happen; that she'd just poofed them back to Tia Dalma's with the fox and... Realization dawned on her. Or rather, it right clubbed her in the head. "Shit," was all she could say.

* * *

Haha! Story updated! And guess what? I editited for typos! Np typos hre! The next chapter is finished, by the way, and the one after that is already nine pages long. Grr, I wish I could put that sketch of the sickbay cabin on here. Dunno why I chose to draw that, as opposed to the _Oblivion_, but I suppose the cabin had a more powerful image in my imagination. -shrug- Whatever.

Anywhosit, REVIEW!!


	31. The Predator

Yes! It's been exactly one month since my last update. I would have posted this sooner, but the next chapter (32) ended up being really long, and I didn't want to update until it was finished.

I know, I know, I should be giving you the next chapter of Fears Unknown instead, but I've been in Guatemala, at a George Parks Drum Major Academy, and, tomorrow, in Williamsburg. I've had little drive to work on that one, although the current chapter happens to be one of my favourites. Anywhosit, I hope to have at least a bit more done by the time I get back from VA, and maybe I'll update then. Either that, or I'll work on getting two chapters done and post them together next full moon. Speaking of which, did anyone see that moon last night? It was really bright! Lit up my room so bright I couldn't sleep—but I couldn't pull the shade down because I didn't want to block out it's beauty, etc. XD

Wow, six reviews! And one of you is a **new reviewer**! Wee-Hoo!!

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Really? They told us it was ¿Donde esta el baño? (As opposed to 'donde es')

**Captain R.K.:** I'm glad someone got the Doctor reference. That was the episode with New Earth and the Kitteh Peoplez, right? Woot.

**fireboltcrazed:** Woo, hello new reviewer! I know what you mean. I go back and reread my stories to check for continuity, and I get to some parts where I'm like 'why the heck did I write that?' Ah well, the fact that you're still here speaks for itself, and I'm glad you appreciate the good stuff enough to stay despite the bad. Thanks for the great review; it was much appreciated!

Oki, enough of my incessant babbling. On to the show!

**Disclaimer****: In the course of my fanfic-writing career, James Norrington has been beaten, bitten, tortured, injured, killed, killed again, been emo, depressed, suicidal, and mentally ill. The fangirls would have killed me by now if I owned it.**

**Chapter Thirty-One: Hunted**

"Yes, chil', it been longer den ya thought. De tyem diff'rence is not de syem fa all Realms. 'T least was only two days."

"But that means two days less that we have to find the last manifestation, before _Dead Man's Chest _comes out."

"At least ya back now."

"Yeah, but it was pure luck that I remembered te fox back on the island. At least now I know he'll be somewhere safe."

"Nowhere is truly safe dese days," Tia Dalma warned gravely. The fox leapt onto the divination table to sniff at the witchdoctor's dress. She scooped it up, stroking its head as it looked up at her with big brown eyes. "Ya mus' bind dis one wit' the others."

"I don't have time. I know this is important, but James is being held a madman on a Navy ship. I fear what they may do to him." For the first time, Amy saw uncertainty flicker across Teacher's face. "We'll be back as soon as we can, and then Jack will be one step closer to being Jack." And in a puff of blue-grey smoke, she was gone.

———————————————

"Well, she damn well isn't in his cabin. Have you checked the rigging? She's proven herself perfectly capable of going aloft."

"The men have searched every inch of my ship, Lieutenant," Mandel growled, eyes flashing. "Either she's jumped ship, or she is right under our noses."

"The latter seems to present itself as more likely, and you know, sir, I wouldn't be surprised if she had disguised herself in uniform."

The captain looked at him sharply. "You speak of that harlot like you know her."

"Not well, sir. I only know her to be Norrington's niece and a tad eccentric."

"Eccentric? I'd say touched in the head." And Mandel laughed at his own wit. Groves pursed his lips, but had the sense not to otherwise show his disapproval. "You ever met the girl?"

"Not formally, although I was there when she got arrested."

"Arrested for what?"

"For happening to be in the company of one Jack Sparrow."

"Harlot. That's all I'll say."

"You are too hard on her, sir."

"It's not as though she is otherwise." Groves did not reply. "How old is she?"

"Fifteen, I think."

"So he's plucking young maidens off the streets now. I wonder what Mr. Norrington's reaction was when he found out, back when he was still Commadore."

"I don't think it was like that, sir."

"You're probably right. She is a bit young, even for Sparrow."

"Judging that James deserted because Sparrow was his brother—or so he said—I think it is safe to say that she treats them both as relatives," Groves suggested.

Mandel nodded in appreciation of the logic. "Jack Sparrow—now there's a name that will be forgotten in a hurry."

Groves looked surprised. "Sir?"

"Haven't you heard? Rumour has it that 'Captain' Jack Sparrow is dead."

"Are you sure that isn't only a—."

He was cut off as the surgeon appeared. "She's in his cabin. I know you were looking for her." and, without waiting for any reaction, he disappeared back down the way he'd come.

Groves and Mandel shared a glance, and the latter nodded a silent order, turning back to the business of running his ship. Sighing and wondering how the girl had escaped notice, Theodore climbed down after the surgeon. He crept along the corridor into the sickbay, toward the last cabin on the right, and paused at the door. Beyond it, he could hear a voice singing softly. It was a cheerful tune, and fast-paced, and as he silently opened the door, he could hear the words more clearly—not that he understood any of them, for they were in another language in what sounded like Welsh, or perhaps Gaelic. Being a Welshman by birth, he discarded the former possibility.

"Seallaibh curaidh eoghain" was a line he thought he heard being repeated many times, and part of him wanted to stay and appreciate her voice, but he had to know what she was up to. Shaking his head to clear it, he made himself focus instead on what she was to busy with. He saw a hammock strung up against the far wall, hanging just below the window, and the lass was hanging up a light curtain around it for privacy's sake.

"Where did these come from?" he blurted out before he could stop himself, and she whirled around to face him, her mouth snapping shut, her song meeting an abrupt end.

She stared at him in surprise for a couple of moments before it registered in her mind that he had asked her a question. "Doctor loaned 'em to me."

"But surely you'd want another cabin? Perhaps next door, or across the hall."

"And be all by my lonesome on a ship full of hostile—and probably bored—strangers of the even-_lesser_ sex?" Groves raised his eyebrows. "And what of poor James? Who'll be there to comfort him when the nightmares come, if not me? And yes, there'll be nightmares. There will. And when he finally wakes up from the state you've put him in? He'll want an explanation that I doubt anyone else on this ship beside me can give." The navy man looked confused at this. "You don't know the real reason behind all this."

"And you're not going to tell me these reasons, are you?" he asked with just a tinge of frustration.

"I'd tell anyone I thought cared enough." Which blatantly meant she thought he didn't.

Unnerved by this, Groves could only sputter, "Sleep where you want. The captain already thinks you're a whore as it is." And he left the room, muttering something about sleeping in a grown man's quarters as he closed the door behind him.

With the small slam of said door, the sleeping James grunted and opened his eyes. He only lay there, blinking as his senses wandered back to him. He attempted to get up, and discovered himself bound. "They didn't want you to lash out," the lass explained, helping him to sit.

"Why would I?" he asked slowly. Then the memories came flooding back in such a torrent of thought that he had to lean his head against the very bedpost attached to his wrists. He sensed her hurrying to his side, and soon felt that wonderful cool of a damp cloth dabbing at his forehead. He sighed in appreciation. "What...what happened?" he at last managed to ask. "Why did I—?"

"Don't you remember the Yume ritual?"

"I thought that was just the once. But I could've—I almost—Amy, what's happening to me?"

She met his gaze and for the first time saw fear there, real fear. "I don't know. But I can't say I'm worried—I mean, I'm not getting any bad vibes about it." He blinked, unsure whether to feel comforted or despair. "The way I see it," she went on briskly, and he raised his head to meet her energy, "you'll probably have out bursts of insanity—episodes, like—every once in a while. They seem to be spurred by emotional and physical triggers."

"But I didn't feel like I was crazy. I just felt out of control. What set me off, then?" he asked, shifting against his restraints.

She stared at the deck, thinking. "The ordeal in Narnia—where the kids thought you were their father—that was emotionally stressful for you. And you were barely recovered from that when the Navy chased you halfway around the island whilst raining down pistol shot. And the twenty by the cat sure didn't help things any."

"That doesn't explain why I attempted to kill the captain—or you."

She regarded him guardedly. "You only pointed it at me because I invaded your bubble. Captain Mandel was a completely different situation. Do you remember what you were thinking about that got you so riled up against him?"

"I...I think I was..." his brow creased in the effort. "I was thinking about how familiar he looked, and I remembered something important, I—something really important that I can't—my head, oh Lord, it hurts."

The lass rushed to his side as he sagged, and helped him to lie down. "Take it easy, take it easy."

"Sorry," he panted in a grunt.

"Don't be. It's okay."

"I can't. I can't remember."

"It's fine," she soothed. "It probably doesn't matter anyway." She paused, running a finger along his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch with a soft sigh, drawing what benefit he could from the motherly touch. "Is there anything I can do for you? Can I get you something?"

"Will you..." Two spots of pink appeared on his pale cheeks. But he dismissed his embarrassment almost immediately, cracking his eyes open against the migraine to meet her gaze again. "Will you sing to me?"

"A sad song? Or perhaps something lively?"

"A lullaby, if you know any. And if not, something slow."

"Surely." She paused to think, scraping her memory for any good songs. Upon finding her quarry, she cleared her throat softly, sitting on the mattress beside him and stroking his hair.

"_Lay down  
__Your sweet and weary head.  
__Night is falling  
__You have come to journey's end._

_Sleep now  
__And dream–of the ones who came before.  
__They are calling  
__From across a distant shore._

_Why do you weep?  
__What are these tears upon your face?  
__Soon you will see  
__All of your fears will pass away._

_Safe in my arms  
__You're only sleeping._

_What can you see  
__Oh the horizon?  
__Why do the white gulls call?_

_Across the sea  
__A pale moon rises.  
__The ships have come  
__To carry you home._

_And all will turn to silver glass  
__A light on the water  
__All souls pass."_

About here, Groves walked in to apologize, fist raised to knock, and upon hearing she was singing, decided this time not to interrupt, but rather to listen, silently opening the door so he could see her.

"_Hope fades  
__Into the world of night  
__Through shadows falling  
__Out of memory and time._

_Don't say  
__We have come now to the end.  
__White shores are calling  
__You and I will meet again._

_And you'll be here in my arms  
__Just sleeping._

_What can you see  
__On the horizon?  
__Why do the white gulls call?_

_Across the sea  
__A pale moon rises.  
__The ships have come  
__To carry you home._

_And all will turn to silver glass  
__A light on the water  
__Grey ships pass,  
__Into the West."_

With a small smile, she rested her hand affectionately on the slumbering man's forehead, taking comfort in the peacefulness in his face as he slept. She turned and got up, then froze upon seeing Groves standing there, all cheer fleeing her face. "That was, uh, quite lovely, Miss Norrington."

She stared at him like a deer in the headlights, not sure whether he had been spying or had simply been caught in happenstance. "Er—thanks." They stared at one another dumbly for a few moments more. "So did you want something?" she finally demanded, "Or did you just come back to call me a whore again?" Ah, so blunt...

"I'm sorry about that, Miss Norrington, I truly am. It's just that your, er, argumentative and contrary nature is frustrating and..." He glanced over his shoulder, then closed the door. "...and what you were saying—about me not caring—it hit too close to home, and I—I _do_ care. I honestly do. I want to be there for him, and I don't want to see him hurt nor see our friendship die, but I'm not—I'm not brave enough. I can't push the limits or speak my mind to a superior. Would I could. This is why I have stayed a Lieutenant so long, truth be told. I was a commodore for a short while, and I could not lead my own men; I was not daring enough."

"It is a mere choice," the lass replied shortly. "You're just afraid of losing your job."

"I am not afraid of losing my job, Miss Norrington, although I do like it rather a lot, but my life. I see that look. You never fully understood what consequences would befall me should I stop denying what is true, did you? You see, he has been branded a pirate, renegade, and deserter in the Navy. They know I was his friend, and so they are watching me like vultures to see if I shall turn renegade also. And doing what he has done is considered high treason, and is indeed punishable by death. Were I to extend my hand to him, to help him, Captain Mandel would have me strung up from the nearest yardarm before said metaphorical hands could touch. And I do fear death, Miss, really I do."

She regarded him for a long time, but did not comment. "I suppose I should not be so hard on you, then. I'm sorry. And about me being contrary? Ain't gonna change." And she had to laugh at the expression on his face. Relief flooded the two of them at the lighter mood of the room.

"So where did you go? I've had crew searching high and low for you, and you were gone without a trace."

"Well they must not have checked that little deck around the bowsprit. Not the forecastle, or anything—in front of that," a simple, quick coverup.

Groves smiled. "The beakhead."

"Beg pardon?"

"That curved structure underneath the bowsprit; it's called a beak. The decking on top is called the beakhead, and you know, I don't think anyone looked there after all."

"Told ya. So do all ships have beaks?"

"No, usually galleons like this one, ships of the line, or fluyts like the _Flying Dutchman_." She blinked at the last, wondering why Groves would know anything about _that_. "You seem to like ships rather a lot."

"Don't _you?_ I mean, aside from the occasional seasickness or storm or whatever, ships are beautiful, and ships are freedom. Can you blame me?"

"Concepts which sound very similar to Sparrow's way of thinking."

"He puts it very poetically. Besides, he's the one who introduced me to ships in the first place. Have you ever been aboard the _Pearl?_ You haven't seen real beauty until you have...although I imagine the _Dauntless_ came rather close. Shame to lose her."

"That shame lies on the shoulders of that man," Groves replied with a gesture at James, "and I'm certain he hasn't forgiven yet himself of that mistake. You say you've sailed with Sparrow; does that mean you've pirated with him?"

"No. The whole reason he dropped me off in Port Royal in the first place was to keep me safe while he and his men went off to a raid or something. I don't think I'd like to do that sort of thing anyway. Just like I'd never want to be in the Navy. People glorify it and think of all of you as these big heroes and whatever, and it's really not all they crack it up to be. It's gory, it's unpleasant, most of you 'heroes' are really cowards, no offense, and a lot of the time, your captains or officers or whatever end up being corrupt and cruel and use their power to manipulate everyone and everything around them to their personal advantage."

"You are aware that I'm obliged to tell you Captain Mandel is a good, respectable man who puts his duty before himself?"

"I'm aware. And _you_ are surely aware that, while I would very much like to continue our conversation, you really must be leaving lest you stay in my room for a suspicious amount of time in the presence of a wanted convict and former friend."

Theodore blinked. "Very well. Shall I see you at supper?"

She shook her head. "Sorry. I'll be taking my food in here with James."

"Of course. I'll be sure and let the cook know. Good day." He turned toward the door.

"Good day. And Theodore," he looked back, "you're a pretty okay guy." And she closed the door after him, not missing the smile.

———————————————

"Lieutenant," Captain Mandel addressed Groves in a ponderous air, "you told me earlier that the girl was arrested with Sparrow. How is it that they both escaped conviction?"

"Sparrow turned into a horse and galloped right out of the gaol with the girl on his back,—"

"He turned into a horse, Leftenant? Do not spin a yarn."

"I've seen him do it. He's got some curse or other on him now."

"And just how did they get out of their cells? I am certain that this mere change of shape did not unlock their doors."

"They were in the same cell, actually. The mob was coming for the girl, and that was when they made their escape. But the crown got the girl anyway whilst Sparrow loped off unnoticed."

"A mob, you say, was after the girl? What sort of mob?"

"A pair of idiots got it into their heads that she was a witch, and she would have been burned alive if Sparrow and Norrington hadn't rescued her, and revealed her to e Norrington's niece."

"They thought she was a witch, eh? And she's related to Norrington?"

"Yessir, but clearly she is not a—."

"Tell me everything you know about her."

———————————————

James grunted and opened his eyes. "Who was that? It sounded like Groves."

Amy looked up from her book—the next installment in the Warriors series, if the reader was wondering—to see him struggling into a sitting position. "He was here, but that was over an hour ago."

"Oh."

"How's your head?"

"I suppose it's all right so long as I don't try to think too hard."

"So I guess that means you slept well?"

"I dreamed," he confessed. "It was about my mother. She was tied at the stake and it was on fire–and she screamed. I heard her screaming, Amy." The lass was at his side instantly, hoping to calm him. "And...Mandel was there. Just watching her die. He was smiling, I think." Realization hit him so hard he was thrown against the bedpost, and forced to cling to it to keep himself from falling over. "I remember—why he looks familiar, Amy. He's the one who convicted Hannah and—issued her death sentence." Her hand dropped from his arm as she stared in shock.

Shock quickly became anger. "I knew there was something I didn't like about that maggot!" she fumed, accent becoming more British with the emotion. "Besides that, he whipped you—and now I understand why he was so eager to. He knows who you are—somehow, some way..."

"Amy, listed to me—."

"I'll throttle him! Keelhaul him! Point a firing squad at him!"

"Amy, _please—_."

"Strap a cannon to his boots and throw him overboard—see how he likes _that_!"

"Amy!" She finally broke off from her tangent to look at him. "He'll suspicion you too. He's bound to." He suddenly lowered his voice, and she sensed his wariness of the wrong ears. "And this time he has a real witch."

"Yeah, one who's gonna kick his sorry little arse!"

"You mustn't. Avoid him as best you can. And whatever you do, _do not_ use your magic, Amy, I beg of you."

"And if he tries me anyway?" she hissed. "What then?"

James hung his head. "Let us pray it never comes to that."

* * *

There you go, the 31st chapter! Thirty-two is finally done, with a start on thirty-three. Maybe I'll get some work done on Fears too! Wouldn't that be something? Heehee.

Well, I'ma go DDR now, and then pack for Williamsburg. I might finally go aboard my first tallship! -dies from suspense and impatience-

Well, you know my price. REVIEW! Please.


	32. The Invitation

"WHOA GUYS! (Too much Red Bull)" So I've become obsessed with this series on Youtube called 'Demyx Time', so if there are some jokes or statements or hyper-randomness that don't quite seem to fit—in later chapters, mind, because this one's been done for ages—then you know why. Also: Williamsburg was a blast. I learned how to dance old-style, went sailing on the schooner, _Alliance_, and monkeyed around on three replica ships, galleons, that brought America's first settlers to Jamestowne: the _Susan Constant_, the _Godspeed_, and the tiny little _Discovery_. Love!

**RespectTheSporks: **Don't worry. That's been answered in chapter 33, I'm pretty sure. (Because 33 is done already! Yay!)

**Disclaimer: In the course of my fanfic-writing career, James Norrington has been beaten, bitten, tortured, injured, killed, killed again, been emo, depressed, suicidal, and mentally ill. The fangirls would have killed me by now if I owned it.**

**Chapter Thirty-Two:** **Visionary**

"I have a plan—I'm going to instigate a mutiny," Amy whispered that night as they rested in one another's arms.

"If he catches you trying, he'll hand you as soon as burn you."

"But he won't know I'm trying."

"You're not going to use magic. You can't."

"I won't have to, if things work out right. See, I'm not going to tell them to mutiny or anything like that. They'll do it on their own."

James rolled his eyes at her confidence. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

"I'll make them like me. I'll be their friend."

"Amy—."

"Well I'm not actually gonna hold them close, you know. That's bound to end badly."

"You know it probably won't work."

"Probably. Doesn't mean I'm not gonna try. And if worst comes to worst, I'll just magic us both straight out of here, regardless."

"But Amy—."

"No buts. I don't know how long the voyage is, and our time is running out. Not to mention the official premier," the last word she said in three syllables, "on the red carpet, which happens Lord knows how long before it hits public theatres..."

"Then as soon as we get out of this, you must find out."

"And then there's the possibility of earlier releases in other countries..."

"Wot?" James stiffened behind her.

"Yeah. And I really don't know how much time _that_'ll give us. Then again..."

"Yes? If there is any hope..."

"Well, there's a part of me that thinks it wouldn't effect us. I mean, I think there might be separate Realms from this one for each foreign language adaptation of the film. All the lines and meanings would be interpreted differently, and the people who would be speaking the lines in said other languages will say them in different tones and such, which subtly changes the character from the original."

"Different languages, different characters, different Realms," Norrington murmured thoughtfully. "Let us hope that it the case."

"I'm feeling more and more certain of the notion, and I'ma ask Tia Dalma about it some time tomorrow."

"By disappearing again? I don't think that will go over well with you-know-who."

"No, James; in my mind. I'll contact her like I used to. Psh. You didn't really think I'd be _that_ stupid, did you?" He shrugged, before softly cursing the soreness that hampered all movement. She carefully climbed out of his arms—there was little he could do to end the embrace—and helped him into a more comfortable position. "Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." She petted his hair once in that soothing motherly manner she always seemed to have, rose and blew out the candle. She waited a moment, listening to the creak of the timbers and the footfalls of sailors topside, and the lapping of waves against the hill as her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, before navigating her way into her hammock and lulling herself to sleep with petty daydreams about her own little world—a world which she hadn't thought of since that once in the library in the Governor's house, what seemed like ages ago.

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Morning came in due time. Someone shouted an order right at the section of bulwarks over their open window. Amy startled awake and promptly rolled out of her hammock. "Whoa!" _Thump!_ "Ow! Dammit." Lucky for her, James was still asleep.

"I don't think you did that right." Er...maybe not. Her head shot up to see him, pushing himself up a little on one elbow, watching her, hazel eyes sparkling with amusement.

"You kidding? Been refining that for months. I _stuck_ that landing!" He laughed softly and she knew he would have liked to laugh harder. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been keelhauled and nobody's bothered to careen the hull."

"Ouch."

"I'll get over it." He struggled to sit up, and accomplished the task with a grunt. "So how did you sleep?"

"Like driftwood floating at sea."

He rolled his eyes. "Why must you always say things like that?" It was corny. And squishy. Like creamed corn.

"What?" She pretended to pout. "I thought it was rather poetic." James only snorted. The lass got up and stretched, catlike, as she always did. Then she tipped her head to one side, and several loud cracks ensued.

"Lord! Every time you do that it sounds like you've broken your neck!"

"Well my doctor says its fine," she replied, cracking her neck the other direction, and smiling evilly when he winced. "It's just air between the bones, and as long as it doesn't hurt, it's not deleterious."

"Big word for someone your size."

"Watch it!" He laughed—which quickly became a groan when she twisted around and cracked her back. "That feels sooo good..." And she did it the other way. James grimaced again, although part of him longed to stretch like that, being chained to a bed and whatnot. "Your back?"

"Still stings a bit. Feels rather tight."

"I'd give you a massage is I wasn't so afraid of opening everything up."

"Thanks, pet. The thought at least is comforting." She gave him a sympathetic smile as she stretched an arm across her chest. And so to the morning exercises. Have to stay fit. Push-up were first. And not those wimpy girly ones either.

James' eyes followed her up and down, observing the mechanics of the muscles and tendons in her arms as she moved, as he was wont to do, and taking some comfort in watching her do the very exercises he had done each morning in his cabin on the _Dauntless_. "Keep your back straight; don't let it sag like that," he advised. "It's a workout for your back as much as it is for your arms."

She paused to look up at him. "Never knew that. Danke." And so resumed.

By perhaps her twentieth, where she was panting with effort, James said, "Go down and hold the position."

"Wahh," she whined, but did it all the same, holding herself with her nose to the ground and elbows sticking out. After a few seconds, her arms began to shake, but she forced herself to maintain the position, taking deep breaths to get air to the muscles.

"And up. Hold."

"I think I've held long enough."

"Five more seconds...All right."

With a sigh and a groan, the lass rolled onto her back. A moment's rest, and then she launched into the marching band crunches. "And don't you dare give me and pointers about these. I'm doing just fine as it is."

"Shutting up."

She had to keep her muscles toned so her body could conduct and focus her magic. If she was unfit, her magic would not behave—however, it also hurt to be over-fit. As with a magnifying glass and the sun's rays, over-focusing her magic would be too intense to be safe, and she would not be able to control the effects, spelling destruction at all angles. This was James' original train of thought before his mind moved on to other things. "You know," he began as the lass stretched the cramps out of her abs, "one would see this situation as bleak; but if you think about it, now is a perfect chance to work on healing skills."

Ames' eyes flashed apprehensively to the door. "Don't you think I've thought about it? What if I hurt you? Every time I think about the possibility of healing you, all I can see in my mind is an image of you screaming in agony. I can't handle that." She broke off to calm the surge of emotions. "Besides, didn't you tell me just last night not to use me 'abilities'?" James blinked. "Anyways, being a nurse means being nice. I like sarcasm _waaay_ too much to give it up."

He had to smile at that. "I didn't mean right now. I meant after the threat is gone, when we're far away from this place. It's a good skill to have, and as your unofficial guardian, I feel that it is necessary for you to learn it."

"Stop sounding like my mother."

"Stop stealing my line." They fell to a playful bickering to pass the time. The exchange would have lasted longer had there not been a knock at the door. The lass opened it to reveal a portly fellow in an apron, whom she recognized to be the cook, holding a tray with their meal on it.

"Food's 'ere," he announced. "Where d'yeh want it?"

"Right there on the bed. Thanks so much."

"'S no trouble, Missy. Anybody'd understand a woman not wantin' ter eat in the company of a rowdy buncha sailors."

"Is that so? I thought the Cap'm was spreadin' it around that I'm only here for lewd and lascivious reasons."

"Cap'n 'as his thoughts, crew 'as theirs."

"A comforting notion. Well, thank you again, and might I add that yesterday's chowder was superb."

"Thankee, Mum. Bring down th' tray when yer done with it."

"Will do. Good day." She closed the door behind him, before swinging around to face James. "Ah, sweet hope!" For now they knew that the crew did not act as a herd of cows or sheep to follow their captain, but followed their own wills instead. "Are you string enough to feed yourself?" she asked him, tapping the bolt that held his shackles. It fell out almost as if it had been loose the whole time.

He attempted to move his arms. "I've broken one of my wrists."

"The doctor hasn't looked you over yet?"

"All he took care of was my back. I'll be sure and mention it to him when he comes to check on me."

"Can you use your other hand?"

With some effort and a lot of pain, he managed to pick up a slice of mango and take a bite. "It's still fresh," he observed. "They can't have been at sea for long."

"Does that mean the voyage is going to take longer than we expected?"

"It might. That's why you must remember to find out our heading today."

"Right. Right after I talk to Tia Dalma about the foreign films."

"Busy day."

"You're telling me. You gonna eat that?"

"Do you know what it is?"

"Salt pork?"

James shook his head solemnly. "Horse." The lass dropped her fork, a piece of the meat with it. "That's right, just like Jack. It's a rather common victual on Naval expeditions. I was rather accustomed to it, too, personally, although since a certain recent time, I have avoided it as all costs."

"But why can't they just have beef or pork or whatever?"

"Horse is cheaper around here, and easier to come by. We do have mutton relatively often, however. And millers."

"Millers?"

"Whatever rats we catch aboard the ship." Ames grimaced. "They're quite good, actually, once you get past the face and general appearance." He licked his lips in thoughtful memory.

"Baleehh."

"And this coming from the girl who's eaten mice."

"Hey, I was a cat. It was normal, then."

"As you always say to me; Don't knock it 'til you try it. Catch a few and give them to the cook. I'm sure he'll whip them right up for you."

"Uh—no. Anywaffles, do you think cookie might have put any horse in that chowder of his?"

"Possibly, yet somehow I don't think so," he said slowly. "What you described sounded like a purely seafood soup. All the same, I'd let the cook know that you're, ah, allergic to horse, shall we say."

"Aye." She popped just one more bite into her mouth. "I won't really be hungry for a while yet. I'm gonna go climb the three and work up an appetite."

"Don't overexert yourself, pet."

"Now don't you worry about me. I'nt gonna do anything stupid, all right? And don't you either. Make sure to put the bolt back in if you hear footsteps." And she was out the door. Up on deck, there was a light fog, which her minimal experience knew would dissipate later into the morning. She sucked in the fresh morning air and looked about the ship. They had anchored for the night and had not yet set sail. There were only a few topside, most of which were keeping watch for any ships that might sneak up on them in the fog.

She scurried up the steps to the forecastle, jumped into the ratlines and sped up the foremast. Her race had begun, as she was timing herself and climbing as quickly as she could. She set herself into the mechanical movement of climbing; and in almost no time at all, had reached the top and began her descent down the other side. The ship being as big as it was, the mast had been equally huge, and already her arms were burning.. Back on deck. She sprinted to the mainmast, which was substantially taller. She didn't hesitate to jump right up and start climbing again.

"Look at her, Lieutenant," Captain Mandel said to his first mate as they watched the girl from the poop-deck. "Jumping around like a possessed ape, and dark as a mulatto."

"Despicable, sir," the mate, who shall be known as a Mr Joshua Richards, rightly predicted where his master was going.

"Always had a rule: no trollops aboard. Especially none like this one." Amy was labouring already, barely halfway up the mast.

"We'll put her ashore the first chance we get, sir, to be sure. As soon as we see land."

Mandel's hand went to the smooth, clean-shaven chin in thought. "Or sooner," he murmured, almost to himself, and poor Richards did not know how to interpret this, much less respond to it.

Amy, meanwhile, was oblivious to the scrutiny being applied to her—or rather, she sensed it, but assumed it was a couple of ordinary, maybe able seamen. Panting heavily now, and finally reaching the top of the mainmast, she found herself too exhausted to go on. Pity. She'd wanted to finish her exercise with a climb over the smaller, aft-most mizzenmast, and out and back on the bowsprit. Taking deep breaths and resisting the urge to flop over and go straight to sleep, she turned and slowly climbed back to the deck, where she leaned against the main to examine her palms and the soles of her feet.

"Are you all right, Miss Norrington?" Mandel, Richards, and the oblivious Amy looked up to see Groves.

"Ah. Why do you only feel the blisters and splinters _after_ you stop?"

Groves chuckled. "I suppose you don't do this often?"

"Its only the second or third time I've tried. And I _still_ haven't gotten all the way through," she gestured at the mizzen. "So do splinters penetrate callouses?" she asked as she pried the bits of wood from her feet, "or should I rather be wearing boots? And I want the practical answer, not the proper one."

Theodore hid a smile. "Honestly? All right, well..." He thought a moment. "The sailors who cannot afford shoes do not complain of splinters in their feet, I don't know if it is because they have protective callous, or if they're simply used to it, but they do not complain."

"Wonderful!" She rose and met his gaze. "I need to talk to you. Will you walk with me?"

"Of course, Miss Norrington." He escorted her through the ship, away from unwelcome company. They headed toward the cabin in the sickbay—she still needed to fetch back the breakfast tray.

"I've been meaning to ask you," she began as they strolled down the hallway, "Where exactly are we going?"

"We're headed back to Port Royal, where your uncle will stand trial for deserting the Navy and allowing Sparrow to escape. Speaking of escapes," and here he pulled her into a small alcove hidden in shadow, and whispered, "I hope you have a plan of getting out of here. Your life is in danger too, just for being in his company."

"It's in danger for more than that, as far as I know."

Groves' brows came together in alarm. "What do you mean?"

"Almonds, tonsils, and bullets," she replied very seriously before stepping back into the hallway, arms folded neatly behind her back. "How long has he got? James, I mean."

"Night of a fortnight." She cracked her neck at this, to avoid betraying just how nervous this had made her; two weeks was much too long. They would either have to escape as soon as possible, or magic their way out. "I don't know what to do, to be honest. It's not just you that I'm worried about," and she knew his 'you' was meant to be plural. "The townsfolk will be devastated. I mean, after the first time, what with everything else that went wrong in the world—."

"The first time?" she stepped in front of him, frowning into his gaze. "What first time?"

"So ha hasn't told you yet," Groves murmured with complete understanding.

"Told me _what_?" she demanded.

"It's no my place to say. And don't try to sway me. It's the only promise I can make him, not to reveal something that he should be the one to tell you."

Ames blinked. "Okay. I'll just have to interrogate him some other time then."

A moment of silence passed. "Was there anything else, Miss Norrington?"

"Huh?–er, yeah. I need you to talk to the doctor for me, if you please."

"About Norrington?"

"Yes. I need ol' Doc to give him a thorough once-over. As far as I know, he's only take care of James's back, yet there's a broken arm and sev'ral torn muscles and such that need tending."

"He never even checked?" Groves seemed surprised. "I'll take care of that immediately."

"Thanks, Theo." He made a surprised sound at the informality. "I'm sorry, do you prefer Teffy instead? Teddy Groves." She laughed. "Cutsie. No, what you need is a new name. Like..."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Hmm, you are a tough one. Arlene? No no, that doesn't fit you at all. Nancy? Nahh.. I'd give you Debbie if that weren't already Jack."

"But those are all women's names," Groves sputtered, earning and odd look from a passing sailor.

"I've got it!" There was shouting topside, and the _Oblivion_ gave a lurch as it set sail for the day. "Rebecca. Rebecca fits you perfectly."

"It does?" He was almost too bewildered to form a proper sentence.

"Oh yes. I can't wait to see Ellie's face when he finds out."

"Excuse me, 'he?' Who's Ellie, now?"

"The one you're not allowed to talk to."

Groves suddenly laughed. "Eleanore—you named him Eleanore! And just how awkward was he when you sprang that upon him?"

"He took to it right away, actually—I mean, aside from giving me that look the first few times I called him that. But he'd already started to get to know me by then."

"Which look?" The lass pushed her brows together, narrowed her eyes in a half-sideward-glare, set her mouth in a grim line, and worked a muscle in her jaw. Groves laughed again. "That's the one. Very good impression. You have him down pat."

The scowl broke into a grin. "I've been around him enough, I suppose."

Groves' own smile faded as they walked on. The girl had known the man for all of about a year, and already she seemed to know him as well as Theodore did—only for him, it had taken nigh on a decade to break through the barriers and armour the man had built up around himself. For the first time, he felt a pang of jealousy that this girl would get closer to James than he as a best friend ever could. He had to remind himself that it was natural anyway, despite current circumstances, because the two were related. It was hard to think of them being related, though. He had always imagined Norrington's relatives to be proper and well on in society, &c, yet here was this headstrong girl who wore men's clothing and enjoyed men's work, and was probably poorer than a dime.

"Miss Norrington," he began at length.

"That's not my name, you know."

"Yes, but it seems to fit you."

"Great, because I was just about to tell you to feel free to call me that, regardless."

Groves smiled. "Miss Norrington, I do not recall James ever mentioning any siblings. How then is he your uncle? He said Sparrow was an adopted brother—are you one of his?"

She shot him a shocked look. "Jack has kids?"

"Well I imagine that he must, womanizer as he is," he replied thoughtfully.

"Why would I call Jack an uncle also, if I were his daughter?" she reminded him slowly.

"Forgive me. I was forgetting. You look like him, you know."

"Who, Jack? Yeah, so I've been told." Numerous times, actually; whenever she dressed up in her cap'n Jack costume, complete with fake facial hair.

"But then, if not through Jack, how are you related?"

She gave him a pained look—an imitation of his own when asked about the contents of the chowder. "It's complicated. I don't think _I_ even really know how it works. But we are blood, and that's the important part. We just call each other uncle/niece. Although, it feels like everything's changed since we met."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, it started out as an uncle-niece thing, then it got more like a father-daughter kind of thing, and now it's like a brother-sister kind of thing, you know?—only really close, like best friends." When she saw the expression on his face, she snapped in frustration. "Darnit. I know what you're thinking this is all sounding like—it's nothing like that, make no doubt. We're related, you'll remember. We're just really close."

"Understood. But, if you don't mind my asking all these questions..."

"Shoot."

He paused thoughtfully. "How did you come to be in his care? I mean, what of your parents?"

"Oh, they're—not on this earth," she lied truthfully.

He started and turned his head sharply to meet her gaze, eyes searching hers for any offense. "I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me. It wasn't my place to ask—."

"It's okay," she interrupted him with an entirely unmoved smile. "It's not like it's a secret or anything."

"You must miss them terribly."

"It's been a while since I last sawr them," she admitted with a sigh; all that time in Narnia had kept her from visiting home thus far, and it felt like over a month. "But that's okay. I'll see them again some day." Some days away, that is. This seemed to settle Groves' mounting mixture of pity and respect for her. "Any more questions?"

"No. I'm afraid that's all for now. And a good thing, too, because we're here." He turned toward the surgeon's door.

"I'll go check on James, then. And Becky," he met her gaze, "Thanks."

"No worries, Miss." And, smiling, he went into the cabin.

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"So y'see, miss, now you've rolled the ship, captain, and crew—the six, the five, and the four—you roll the other two dice, the cargo, and try to get the highest you can."

"That so? All right, then. Here goes." Ames shook her dice and let them fly. A four and a six. "Ten."

"Why miss," the same boy said, "you've just won."

"Have I?" The other boys nodded their heads and chorused congratulations. "Jolly good. Let's have another go and see if I've got the hang of it yet." When the surgeon had arrived at their cabin, Amy had opted to duck out and go about the ship instead. In a hall somewhere near the galley, she had found a group of seven or eight ship's boys huddled around a dice game. After a few awkward moments, they recognized her as the heroine who had stood up to an officer without getting beaten, and she was invited to play. Of course, she had never heard of 'ship-captain-crew' before, and so had needed to be taught. That was where Nathaniel had helped her. He was about her age, perhaps a little older, and seemed a kind and honest young man—one of the few, among the savage snotties known as midshipmen. Most of the other boys were powder monkeys and cabin boys, aged eleven or twelve, and the rest in between.

"Would you care to go first, Miss?"

She blinked. "Ehem. Miss? Rather formal, don't you think? All right, yes, I'll go first. You can do me the pleasure of telling me what I'm doing wrong." As chance had it, she won this round also.

"Well done, Miss Norrington," a young Ethan congratulated her.

"Would you like to try with stakes, mum?"

"And me so new to the game?" she replied. "I fear I would be taken advantage of by you wicked fiends."

"Those're just stories, mum," another young'un cried. "Some of us were poor and desperate sods afore we got here, but we don't take advantage of ladyfolk like you."

Amy turned a light shade of pink. The boy's companion whacked him over the head, "Twit!" for his terrible choice of words.

"What he means is, we're not wicked once you know us," Nathaniel amended, "and we don't take advantage of our friends or those we like." Aha. So she's already won these boys over at least—although a handful of ship's boys and a couple of midshipman were unlikely to sway the iron figure to her favour should it come to the stake, let alone even consider mutiny on their own.

She smiled and laughed. "Even so, I have nothing to wager."

"All's the better," came a stern voice, "because gambling is illegal aboard a Royal Navy ship." The blue-coated figure stepped out of the shadows.

"Oh—Lieutenant Groves, you scared me," she flustered.

"Good. Maybe that will teach you a lesson. I've been sent to fetch you. Come along."

She rose. "Sorry, mates. I guess we'll save this for another time, hey? Thanks for havin' me. I'm off." And with a bow, she turned and trotted after Groves.

"You're lucky it was me," the officer told her without turning or slowing.

"Sir?"

"Anyone else would have reported you for gambling, and you would have been punished. The boys too."

"But we weren't gambling!" she exclaimed—and her accent suddenly became very British, as it did whenever she got excited or angry. "Just talking about it."

"Richards and Mandel wouldn't have seen it that way."

"Richards, eh?"

"He is a respectable man, have no doubt, but he trusts and believes in his superiors more thank his own judgement."

The lass made a scoffing noise. "Lotsa people like that these days. I could name a few right off the bat," she added, fixing his back with an accusing glare.

He turned his head to meet the look, and seems about to argue, or perhaps call her out for insulting an officer, but what came out of his mouth was something completely different. "Right off the bat, did you say?"

Oops. Baseball wasn't around yet, apparently. Although there was cricket... "It's a figure of speech in the colonies." Yeah, let's go with that. "Anyway, were did you say we were going?"

"I didn't. We are paying a visit to a man very much like a tailor."

"A tailor? What do we need with a tailor?"

"Besides that hole in the rump of your trousers?" With widening eyes, the girl spun around to look. No hole. She turned back to him with a scowl, but he only laughed. "The Captain has invited you to dine with him tomorrow evening. You're going to need a dress."

"Are you kidding me?!" A skirt was the last thing she wanted right now! She shut up when he pursed his lips, however. "Okay, fine, but if it involves a corset, many, many shins will be kicked!"

Groves laughed again—her humour seemed to work very well with him. "I'll tell him to keep that in mind."

"Tell him to keep it simple, too." They emerged on deck, and Amy's breath was immediately drawn away. This was the first time she had been topside when the _Oblivion_ was in full sail, and the effect was impressive; clouds upon clouds of billowing canvas, stretching up over two hundred feet, as though reaching for the sky. In fact, from this particular spot, she could not even see the sky for the sea of sails.

"Well are you going to go on gawking all day?" Groves asked stiffly, though not without humour.

"Yes," came the expectedly unexpected reply. "But I can walk and gawk." As it were, they had not gone more than twenty paces when something else excited her fancy. It was a big boat with a mast and everything, rigged to about a dozen or so pulleys over the bulwarks on the starboard side. It had a twin to port. "What are those?"

"Those are our cutters, as well as our life boats. Forty foot on deck, each of them."

"What's a cutter?"

Groves blinked. For all her knowledge of ships, she seemed to know very little. "A cutter serves multiple purposes. Sometimes it is sent out as a messenger ship to another ship, sometimes as a scout, and sometimes it goes out on its own, usually to take on the less formidable pirate sloops and such, in order to save inconsequential damage to the, ah, 'mother ship.'"

"That makes sense; although to the poetical eye, it hardly seems fair to the little-ship, to have to spend her life aboard another ship, never frolicking through the waves except to do grunt work, and when she finally gets to do something significant, it is only because she is less valuable to her masters than her vessel berth. If you're poetical, that is."

"And I am to suppose that you are?"

"Only right now. How many does it take to handle her?"

"When one sets out after pirates, usually a dozen or more. Just to sail her? Well, if the helmsman were to double as cook, I would say three, probably four men." The lass's eyes gleamed. "Don't get any ideas. She hasn't got any provisions on board, except gunpowder, and it takes at least twenty percent of the crew to launch her."

"Boy, ideas are the stuffs on which masterpieces are built. Has she got a name?"

"Probably, though doubtless it would sound insignificant."

"You mean you don't know it?"

"Well, I haven't had the chance to sail her yet." Her expression must have asked her question for her, for he added, "Yes, it is up to the lieutenants to captain the cutters when they're sent out on missions, and even then, the only time a second-lieutenant like myself would have the chance was if both were to be sent out at the same time. Besides that, everyone only ever refers to them as 'the cutters', so their names are not well known among the crew."

"But still, not to know the name of the ship you could possibly one day captain?"

"Boat." Well it was only forty foot... "Well, what say we hurry on to the tailor's, and on our way back we investigate, hmm?"

"I'm liking the sound of that." And thus they hastened to their destination.

As it was, the tailor had very little experience in dress-making, but had experience enough to figure everything out. However, since he had very rarely been in view of women's undergarments, Amy was cheated of drawers and underpetticoats, and thus had to miss out on undressing for the seamster (Oh thank heavens!)

After taking measurements, Jennings, as he was called, sketched out possible dress designs, and after surveying his supply of cloth, decided on the one that would work. It consisted of a simple, modest white tunic, undermost, and a simple, frilly white petticoat. The bodice was black and split into a V down the middle; a chord of the same shade zigzagged across to keep it close. The outer skirt was made of a matching material, which dropped to mid-calf and swirled about in a most delightful manner whenever she turned. About her waist would be a light blue sash, and a ribbon of the same to hold her hair, for a finishing look.

As pleased as she was with the dress—a rare occurrence in itself—she could not stop the dread from creeping up her spine, or for closing icy fingers around her heart at the idea of the pending encounter with the witch-hunter captain. In fact, as the tailor—a most flamboyant character, to be sure—was making the final adjustments, Ames fell into a reverie of what had happened the first time. This was the first time she had been able to remember it clearly—every other time, it had been blank or a vague blur. But now, in her mind's eye, she saw the pyre, saw the dancing flames, felt their heat, searing, burning! The tried to get away, but could not move. The smoke filled her lungs, choking her, blocking her breath. With a desperate gasp, she slumped to one side, and the world spun until it was the tailor's cabin once more. ("What? All I did was embroider the hem!")

"Miss Norrington, are you all right?" She felt a vibration against her cheek as Theodore spoke, and realized she was in his arms, her head against his chest. He must have caught her. "Miss Norrington? Amy?"

Blinking, she looked up into his concerned face, and tried to get up. He supported her until she was steady once again, worrying all the more as she held her head, which was beginning to clear. "I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"Just reliving a really, really bad memory." Except the memory had been worse than the event. That's because it had not been a memory.

* * *

And there you have it. Another chapter. And with half the dialogue either reminiscent of Horatio Hornblower, or the Aubrey/Maturin series. LoL.

Now then, for those of you who are _not _yaoi-phobic, I invite you to check out the eight amazing episode of Demyx Time.

Review on your way out! Thanks.


	33. The Demon

Sorry this is so late! I meant to update closer to the beginning of this month, but I either forgot or was too busy—marching band was work enough, but it's twice as bad when you're drum major! XD Also, I know I promised a Fears Unknown update a couple nights ago for the full moon. Well. Haven't finished the chapter yet. It's coming along, though! So instead of updating Fears every full moon, I shall update SOMETHING on the full moon, meaning whatever I happen to have ready, and whatever else will be updated as soon as possible.

Six reviews this time! Woo!

**Swann Shooter: **Razor boy? Why do you call him Razor Boy?

**Little Miss Sparrow:** If I didn't understand literary devices, I wouldn't be as good a writer. Also: HOLY PIGEONS! You get to said on the Lady Washington?! -is very, VERY jealous- She played the _Interceptor_!! Lucky!

**Disclaimer****: Don't ask me. idk.**

**Chapter Thirty-Three (Wow!): Facing Demons**

"All right. The first course will be a soup. Which spoon do you use?"

"Uhh...just a guess, but I'm thinking this big one?"

"Very good. Now, onto the appetizer. It will be light. Which fork?"

"Well, this one looks like the salad forks we have back home, so—"

"Wrong."

"This big one?"

"Main course."

"This one?"

"Dessert."

"Two-pronged?"

"For cutting meat."

"Then that only leaves the cocktail fork."

"Precisely."

"But there are five of them! And three knives and four spoons—argh, you people have too bloody much silverware!"

"I know you're used to one spoon, one knife, and usually one fork where you're from, and I must admit that while I was there it was a relief not to have to remember my etiquette, but here you must practice refinery, or else offend the captain who may wish you harm. Now, take this and settle it in your lap." A napkin. "Knees together like a lady now."

"But they don't like to go together! The horsey muscles are too big."

"Too bad. A woman around here doesn't ride like you do. Good. Elbows off the table, now—and remember to take tiny bites, lest he address you whilst your mouth is full."

"Grahh. Stupid manners."

"Do not make light of this. Do one thing as you would in your own realm, and your only chance of convincing him you are a normal, ordinary, insignificant girl will be snuffed out, along with our hopes of escape—unless we were to leave now, and avoid this whole thing."

"No. You're not well enough. I had to help you into that chair just now, and if we're going to get out of here without magic, then you have to be able to hold your own."

"I suppose. What have you seen as far as a means of escape?"

"The cutter. She's forty foot long, and it takes three to man her."

"But you and I are only two—one, since you refuse to allow me to do anything."

"I know. But if Jack and Will could commandeer and sail the _Interceptor_ all by their twosies, then a cutter should be no problem. It's the best chance we've got, and I just need a little while longer to figure everything out, and smoother out all the details."

He regarded her for a while, jaw set. "Fine. But keep me in the loop, will you?"

"I promise."

"Now, as to that glass of yours, you should hold it in your right hand instead of left. And it should not be held around the stem like that. Perhaps I should demonstrate." He reached for the glass, then paused, looking at the heavy bandaging around the broken arm. "Perhaps it would be best if we were to take this lesson to the interior of our imaginations."

"I'll bet. You tell me when you start to feel drained, now." And she connected her mind to his. She found herself sitting in a marvelous, roomy captain's cabin, a supper table set out and ready. James was sitting at the head of the table, and upon seeing her, rose and bowed. He was uninjured, shaven, and back in his wig and uniform, although his hat had been removed for the occasion.

"_You will curtsey upon entry._" She did as bidden, as smooth and graceful as she could. But her attention was not on him, and he almost felt as though she were curtseying more to this unfamiliar ship which so enamoured her, than to him. "_This was my old cabin,_" he told her, "_Back on the _Dauntless."

"_So this is the_ Dauntless," she breathed. "_She's beautiful_."

"_Pet, all you've seen is her cabin."_

"_And it's all I need."_

He gave her time to admire the memory, but they really needed to get on with the lessons. "_Now, he will invite you to sit_." He beckoned to her. "_You will come to the chair and approach it from the right side. Supposing he will be civil toward you, he will pull your chair out just so, and—gather your skirts, now."_ She looked down to see she was wearing an elaborate Elizabeth Swann sort of dress—let's face fact; she was the man's standard of what a lady should be. "_Now, as we are at sea, rather than on land, things may be a bit different than what you were expecting. There will only be three courses, I presume; a soup or appetizer to begin, and probably mutton, salt-horse, or -pork for the main. You will have wine, so watch the drinking. Now, when you hold your wineglass, you must grasp it just so..._" The lesson seemed to continue for ages. There were so many things about deportment and etiquette to learn—and most of it was minute details. "_Remember: scratch not, sing not to yourself, and speak not, unless spoken to,_" James repeated.

While they were doing this, the cabin door opened and Theodore walked in. He found the two sitting across a makeshift table, James wearing his shirt once more. They were staring at one another with a frightening intensity, unmoving, hardly breathing. Suddenly noticing something even more important, after staring dumbly at them for a moment, he hastily shut the door behind him. Neither stirred. Bewildered, he chose not to approach, and waited by the door for either of them to come out of their trance. (And he hoped the girl would be first, for a part of him dreaded an encounter with Norrington after everything...)

At last, James blinked and brought his good hand to rub at his eyes. "Forgive me," he breathed to the girl, who was also stirring. "I am growing tired."

"That's okay. I'm good for a rest anyway. I don't think I'll be able to remember all of this though," she confessed, the both of them still certain they were alone.

"You don't need to remember it all. From what you've told me, the captain already thinks you are low down in society, so he will be expecting blunders. I'm only teaching you all of this so that you make the right _kind_ of blunders," he added with meaning.

There was a soft 'Ehem,' and they both looked up to see groves, looking at them anxiously. "What are you doing out of your restraints?" James set his jaw with a death glare, about to spit back and angry retort. "What if someone else had found you such? They'd have you down in the brig at once. Miss Norrington, did I not entreat you to abstain any foolish mistakes?" James' anger faded; Theodore was only trying to help, it seemed.

"Doctor has found it in his power to allow me two hours a day to move around and rehabilitate within the confines of this sick bay. You noticed the marine stationed at the only point of escape?"

Theodore unexpectedly broke out in a grin. "That is wonderful news. Have you been out yet? I imagine being tied to that bed must have driven you absolutely mad." His face suddenly fell, and he added, "-er."

Unable to hold any anger toward this man who was so truly his greatest friend, James managed a smile. "I'm not mad, as it were, and once the Doctor figures that out, I'll be released to the brig, for sure. I quite prefer it in here, truth be told." Theodore bobbed his head sympathetically. "In answer to your quare; no, I have not as yet ventured out. Upon attempting to stand, I found every muscle in my legs weak and unreliable. I've only made it as far as this chair because I had help." Groves' eyes flitted to Amy's. "Was there a reason you came?"

"To be honest, I just wanted to see how you are," he confessed. "But don't let that marine overhear us. I told my superiors, et cetera, that the Miss had requested I come and answer further questions—speaking of which, have you any?"

"I have," James interjected. "How big a ship is this? She feels larger than any I have seen before."

"She is two hundred and forty foot, from stem to stern."

"That's huge!" cried the lass. Sure, in her world, a two-forty footer would still be called a boat, as compared to some mere ferries, not to mention cruise ships and barges, and larger ships that would come around the turn of the nineteenth century. But for a wooden ship before the industrial revolution, she hadn't been expecting anything over two hundred feet.

"That is. How many gun decks?"

"Three. There would be four, but we all had rather have our galley."

"Guns?"

"A hundred twenty-eight. The broadside combined weight in metal is two thousand five hundred and eight pounds."

Amy's eyes widened. "So she's a first rate?"

Theodore grinned. "Even greater. But, as is it, the _Oblivion_ and her sister ship are mere experiments. Do you believe there is talk of a whole squadron? Eight altogether."

James grew grim. "There go Jack's chances at sea."

Groves' eyebrows drew together in confusion. "I thought you had heard, James. As the rumour goes, Jack Sparrow is dead."

Norrington and the Miss shared a secret look. "Many such rumours have floated around before. I did not believe them then, and after all this," he gestured at his back with his broken arm, "I certainly won't believe them now."

"I don't know, Norrington; this one seems different." It seemed strange for Theo to be calling James by just his last name, however it was necessary sp that no man could accuse him of being familiar toward the certain prisoner. He had already let it slip once. "Almost like when we heard about it back when—."

"Yes, well he came back then," James calmly interrupted, "and he'll come back this time. I have every faith."

Theodore chuckled. "Not long ago, your every faith would have been quite the opposite. How you've changed," he added affectionately.

"We all have. What's our speed?"

"About seven knots. Nice and brisk."

"I have a question," Amy piped up. "It's about the captain."

"Go for it."

"Is he any sort of superstitious man?"

"Miss, he is a sailor. All sailors share some measure of superstition."

She looked at James, eyebrows raised in question. "It's true," he replied.

"However, he has been known to interpret omens from events that I'm certain are ordinary happenings. And I'm not the only one of that mind."

"Do you know if her believes in wmthm—?" Her question was cut short when James clapped a hand over her mouth with a furious I-can't-believe-you-nearly-did-that look. Even for all this friendliness, her nephew still could not trust Groves. "Excuse you," she went with feigned indignance, swatting his hand away. "I was going to say 'weather signs'."

Theodore looked from one to the other, bemused. "Er—he has a tendency to believe that foul weather is set on him by the people he is hunting or chasing."

Dread stiffened the girl's back. If there was a storm while they were still aboard, he would surely blame her, and she would be done for. James sensed her fears and agreed with the, "Thank you, Leftenant. That is all for now, as the Doctor will presently be returning to truss me up." Theodore bowed and left.

As soon as the door had closed, the two looked at one another in surprise. "We came upon that bit by complete accident," the lass breathed. "I'm sorry about letting that slip. I feel like we can trust him. But to think—such bad luck about unfavourable weather, and I only asked as a cover-up."

"Good luck to show us the bad. I meant to ask, how are you feeling? You mentioned you nearly fainted this morning—perhaps you should stop skipping breakfast. Go and get something to eat, why don't you?"

"Yeah, maybe I should. You gonna be all right for a while?"

"With you checking in every ten minutes? How could anything go wrong without your knowing?"

"If you think that'll stop me worrying about you, you're wrong. With my luck, as soon as I stop fretting, trouble will come." She helped him back to the bed, where he nursed his arm. Both wrists had been bandaged; one broken and the other mildly sprained. The doctor would thus tie him to the bed by the ankles to avoid upsetting the injuries. "Okay, that's great." Some of his stiffness seemed to have gone. "Everything good? Nothing hurting more than it should?"

"I'm fine, Mother," he snapped in good humour, feigning indignation. "Now go eat."

"Okay, see you later." She slipped out, leaving him rolling his eyes after her. ("She's half my age and more a mother than half the women I am acquainted with," he was muttering.)

To the galley, then. She came upon the great cafeteria completely empty, aside from the tortoiseshell ship's cat, who upon noting her entrance, sprang up from her nap in the corner and came trotting over. Its little pink mouth opened in a questioning meow. "Well hello there. You here to keep me company?" The cat winked one yellow eye. At that moment, Amy's stomach grumbled and she remembered her mission. "Food." The cook was nowhere in sight; but there were fruits and biscuits and such in the pantry that she would be free to partake of. The narrow door opened with a creak, and she slipped inside, careful not to let any of the goats, chickens, and et cetera, to escape. "Oh! Sweet potato muffins!" she cried to the cat, which had followed her in. She hadn't used to talk to cats this way—not until she had been one, anyway. "Fresh, warm, and my absolute favourite." Some might say they tasted like spice cake. Amy thought they tasted like ginger snaps, or perhaps like pumpkin pie. "I should bring one back for James. He'd love one of these." And so, with a handful, she found a place to sit and nibble. All the while, the little cat, which for its small stature was by no means a kitten, was yamming away, sitting next to her seat. After a few minutes of being ignored, she finally leapt into the girl's lap and yowled her demands. "What do you want?" she cried.

"Food!" It was then that Amy figured out that this scrawny cat was not female.

She gave it a startled look. "Excuse me?"

"I've been meowing incessantly. I would have thought you'd get the message. I'm hungry."

She couldn't believe it. This cat—it was talking! She shook her head, wondering if she had accidentally slipped into its mind of language without realizing it. "Are you one of Jack's?" she asked amidst her confusion. Could this be the final manifestation?

The cat tipped his head to one side. "I haven't the faintest idea."

"No, no, you don't sound like him—but you do sound familiar."

"As do you—that is why I allowed myself to speak." Ah, so he really was talking. "Yes, I remember you now—you're the girl who was with Jack Sparrow. It's Amy, right? Yes, the one who bested me in that swordfight."

"When have I ever dueled a talking cat?" Was anyone else around? If she was caught with a talking cat, she was dead.

"Oh I wasn't a cat back then—I was the demon who turned him to a horse."

She nearly dropped her muffin in shock. "You're the demon?" she asked in a small voice, rubbing her shoulder where that scar lay hidden.

"Was, miss. I _was_. Been trying to make things right again, see, and as punishment for serving the devil, I've been banished to the life of a cat."

"Well," was all she could say.

"I know I done you some wrong, miss, back then, and I'm sorry for it. But I'm a changed man—cat," he flicked his ears, "and I'd like to be a friend, if you'll have it. What do you say? Feed me?"

She allowed him a smile, and with furtive glances over her shoulder, produced a small fish about the length of her hand. She picked him up and set him on the table to eat it. "Well don't just stare at it—eat up!"

His tiny nostrils were working furiously. "How did you do that?"

"Do what? I had it in my pocket."

"Miss, I worked for the Devil. I think I know when something unnatural's about. Besides that, who carries a fish in their pocket?"

"Well—can you keep a very big secret?"

"I _am_ a very big secret."

"Precisely why I am contemplating telling you. But can I _trust_ you?" she asked, gaze burning into his. "Can I trust you with my life? Because if this gets out because of you, I am dead."

"Cross my heart."

She sighed, thinking very deeply about the consequences of the decision. Then, in a very soft voice that only a cat could hear, she said, "I have magic," and in the same voice, lower than a whisper, explained how she was different than a witch like he would be thinking, and that she did not serve the Devil to get her magic, but rather had been born with it and recently discovered it. She told him about how Jack had been Shattered and about why being stuck on this ship could spell ruin for three different Realms—an event that would be made completely inevitable if Mandel got his way, which was why he must guard her secret with his life.

It lasted perhaps two bells' worth of explaining—thereabouts of an hour, to you landlubbers—where she had subconsciously and seamlessly slipped from that sub-whisper to thought. "Don't worry, love, I won't tell a soul," the cat promised with all sincerity.

She sighed. "Thank you—what's your name?"

"I—don't have one. I lost the one I was born with when I sold my soul, and as ship's cats don't rightly have names, well..."

"What's that feel like," she asked with fascination, "not having a name?"

"Like I'm my own cat—like I'm completely free, and sort of in my own world. And also like no one will ever be able to address me, or know who I am, who I was, or my story."

"Well I know your story, or at least parts of it, and I'm going to give you a name. Any preferences? A name to suit a person, or a name better suited for a cat?"

"Nothing silly," was all he could manage around his surprise.

She thought for a long time. "Do you know... 'Demon' is actually a rather good name for a cat... Forgive my lack of creativity; I do not know what's wrong with me. You wouldn't happen to prefer 'Angel'...?"

He shrank away from this. "No, miss, I am much to undeserving for that name."

"Demon, then?"

"I am not a demon anymore," he pointed out. "I can't raise Hell like I used to. But I can certainly come close—I'm a cat!"

"Demon it is."

"Thank you, miss, most tolerable kind of you. Feels good having an identity again, and all that."

"Great. Now grab your fish and come along to reacquaint with James over these heavenly sweet-potato muffins."

She nearly dropped these treasures upon entering the cabin, she had such a fright. The Doctor was sitting in a chair pulled up to the bed, where James was sitting, tied to the mattress by his ankles. He was holding his arm over a wide bowl. Blood was streaming into it from an incision in the crook of his elbow. "What are you doing?!" she cried in a panic.

James looked up, startled. "Just being bled is all."

"I suppose we shall have to stop shy of your ten," the surgeon told him, dabbing at the wound and placing a bandage over it.

"Is that for the best?"

"It is best for the miss."

"I understand. Thank you." The doctor only gave him a pitying look as he closed the door.

"What was that all about?" Amy demanded. "How much did he take?"

"Less than ten ounces. Calm down, it isn't that much."

"Isn't that much? Isn't that _much?_ What's gotten into you, giving blood away like there's a drive going on?"

"It is supposed to clear the mind—good for a madman, I presume—and speed the recovery of my arm."

"I'll tell you right now, bleeding has no health benefits whatsoever."

"I've been bled before and personally felt said nonexistent benefits myself."

"The Chinese don't do it, and they're way better with their doctoring."

"And how's that?" he asked with sharp skepticism.

"I don't know. Why don't you ask them why they die so much older than you Europeans do?"

"Ehem."

Oh yeah. "James, this is Demon. Demon, James. Make with the happy while I cool my jets."

"Trust you to bring a cat along," he said with amusement, scratching the feline behind the ears.

"Mrrh... She brought muffins, too," Demon told him, and the hand was snatched away with a start. "Yes, ah, I can talk. By the way."

"Er.."

"Would you go back to that scratching? It felt terribly good."

"Amy, what is the meaning of this?" She looked away from the porthole to meet his fury. "You've enchanted it—how could you—if they find it out—."

"Don't worry. 'It' has a way of staying hidden," Demon cut in with mild irritation. "And besides, she did no magic for me except to make this fish, which I would very much like to eat."

"Well, if you didn't do this, then—could it be—"

"He."

"Excuse me?"

"You keep calling me 'it.' I don't appreciate that."

James glared. "My apologies," he replied stiffly. "Can _he_ be the final one?"

"No," said Amy. "He is someone else entirely, and he knows everything."

"What can you mean?"

"Do you remember that demon, turned Jack into a horse? The one I had the big fight with, where I got that scar?" She nodded her head toward the tortoiseshell.

"You!" Rage burned an icy green in his eyes as he struggled against his restraints. "You nearly killed her. If I weren't so weak right now, I'd give you the same."

Demon shrank away, crouching down with ears flat and tail between his legs. "I know what I did was wrong. But hurting her was an accident. My intent was to win, not to kill."

"How can you trust him?" the man demanded of her. "After all he's done. He's a _demon_ for Jesus' sake."

"Not anymore—keep your voice down, will ya?"

"How can you say 'not anymore'?" he went on in a hoarse whisper. "Once you turn to the Devil, there's no coming back."

"Yes there is. Forgiveness. The man whose name you've just taken abused." That shut him up.

Demon broke the silence. "I was banished to the life of a cat to atone for my wrongs. I am no longer worthy to be a man. But I cannot complain. Anything is better than what I was. All I seek now is forgiveness from the people I hurt."

"And so you've told him everything." James' voice was deadly calm. Amy would have been less intimidated if he had shouted. "About Jack—about you."

"I have," she replied in a shakily resolute voice. "And I think he'll come in handy; as our eyes around the ship. A cat can go anywhere."

"Perhaps... But can we trust him?"

"Sir, she gave me fish. She has my undying loyalty, not to mention friendly affection."

"If you can be swayed by mere fish—."

"No, no, Mr. Norrington. I pledge fealty to her, not the fish—although it's a nice bonus."

"Well then," James sighed after a long silence of deep thought. "It seems out little group has just found a new member."

————————————————————

Demon meowed at the closed door. It opened, and he padded inside. "Captain's been talking with the carpenter a lot," he reported, leaping up into a chair and curling his tail around him. "I know, it doesn't seem like much—but he was asking how much wood he had."

"He must be planning to—"

"Now hold on just a minute. I hate to be the sensible one here, but aren't we being just a little paranoid?" Amy cut in. "It's an innocent enough question that I'm sure you yourself have asked on numerous occasions on your own ships, James. We've got this one preconception that we don't even know if it's right, and it's got us jumping to conclusion after conclusion."

"You don't believe he killed my mum?"

"I believe you when you say he did," she assured him. "But what I don't believe is that they'd let him into the Navy if he was still with the crazies. I mean, I agree with you completely, being careful is important, I just think we're being a bit paranoid, you know?"

James blinked at her. "If you think that will stop me worrying,—"

"Who's stealing lines now?" she smirked.

He sighed. "You're probably right. But that doesn't mean we should let our guard fall, either."

"Things seem to complicate themselves rather easily, don't they?" Demon remarked.

"It wouldn't be so complicated if we could just poof out of here," the lass grumbled.

"And give eight hundred men every reason to hunt you down?" Her scowl disappeared. "They all discover your magic, and there will be consequences. Trust me. Now, with the war on the horizon, there will be enough danger as it is. The last thing we need is hundreds of trained fighters breathing down our necks." The war. She'd hardly thought of it at all, since finding out about it so long ago.

There was a long, smouldering silence. "Eight hundred men?"

James turned his gaze to Demon, who shifted from paw to paw. "Four hundred and seventy-four."

The lass whistled. "Oh please. On a ship like this, I wouldn't be surprised to find nine hundred or even a thousand men."

"Then she's undermanned?"

"Incredibly so. Either the Navy's running thin on men, or they didn't think they needed so many hands for the search and capture of one man—but then, why not send a lighter ship?"

"Remember, the _Oblivion_ is still an experiment," Demon reminded him. "They wanted to send her out on a small mission first to see how she sails and all that. (Besides—you're an important man.)"

"But I've heard of her before. She has that nickname."

"_No Second Chances_," the cat sighed. "I know. I was there when she got that name. She was still moored in Kingston, being fitted out for her maiden voyage. It was hard to see her from within the bay, as the boathouse hid her a little. Aside from her, the harbour happened to be momentarily unguarded. Now, there was a crew of pirates that had just been captured. To escape the noose, they agreed to sign on as privateers. Well, some pirates stay pirates, and this particular bunch saw fit to steal a ship and make a bid for freedom. They managed to get control of a fourteen-gun brig, and set sail for open water. Not five minutes later, the _Oblivion_ blocked their escape and opened fire, a full broadside. They were blown right out of the water—the brig was reduced to splinters, and the crew were reduced to two, who were hanged the next day."

"So she made it impossible for those men ever to have a second chance," James replied. "Goodness—not even into her maiden voyage, and she already had a reputation."

Damon nodded. "Navy has high hopes for her."

"And I'm having lower and lower hopes for Jack, once he gets back to pirating," the lass replied.

"Yes, well we have to put him back together first, which we can't do until we get out of here, which we can't do with magic, is that clear?"

"Yes sir," she sighed, before suddenly perking up. "I brought sweet-potato muffins."

"Oh you are an angel!"

————————————————————

The door opened and closed. The cabin was dark. The shadowed figure sitting behind the desk did not bother to rise. "Ah. You. You'd better be here to tell me everything is ready."

"Well, sir, about that mixture—what could you possibly want with something like that?"

There was a long silence. "We have a rat infestation, which the cat has failed to subdue. The recipe I ordered; it will take care of them quite easily."

"But so high a concentration for mere rats, sir?"

"I want to make _absolutely sure _that they cannot come back. Go, now, and I had better not see you again until that mixture is complete."

"I'll have it to you before noon tomorrow, sir."

"Very good. Now get back to work—and send that carpenter in."

"Yes, sir." With a hasty bow, the surgeon exited the captain's cabin.

* * *

Okay, so there you have it. Next chapter is not yet finished, although it does have a lot in it so far concerning the buildup to a climax (after spending God-knows how many chapters on this once sidestory...)

Anywhosit, REVIEW! Please.


	34. The Serpent

Hey, it's still in my window of opportunity. The moon still looks full.

This chapter was originally almost 60 pages. But I ended up cutting it down; so now it's 36 pages. (19 typed.) That being said, this means chapter 35 is nearly complete. Woot.

Only three reviews? What is this?

**Little Miss Sparrow: **Your wish is my command. Both the one about Demon and the one about Mandel.

**Disclaimer****: Don't sue me. Nobody's reading this crap anyway.**

**Chapter Thirty-Four: The Serpent in the Garden**

"Sh, James, do you feel that?" Amy interrupted their conversation, a hand going to his arm. They both felt it, and in the silence it only seemed to intensify. Her gaze darted to Demon, who lay pensive on the chair, and had not said a word all morning.

"That's...it doesn't feel good, does it?"

She sighed in answer as they cast about for the source of that strange sense of foreboding. "I know this feeling; this is how it's been feeling in my world—only it's less intense here."

"What's it mean?"

"The Realms are struggling to maintain their separation. But Tia Dalma said it's been feeling like this since I noticed it back home, so I guess it's just getting more intense."

"But why couldn't we feel it before?"

"It must've been so faint that only Teacher could sense it." She turned to look him in the eye. "We're running out of time, James. We hafta get outta here."

"How long do we have?"

"A little less than a month."

"Then we have time to spare keeping 'the crazies,' as you call them, off our backs."

"James, we can't wait!"

He wasn't sure whether to glare at the level of intensity and—desperation?—in her eyes, or take it seriously. At length, he sighed and said, "Compromise: If we can't get out of here by week's end, we drop all precaution and magic our way out."

"All right."

"But, until then we keep our guard up, and keep the magic to a minimum. Do we have a deal?"

That would give them four days.

She considered this for a few moments, then shook his hand. "Agreed."

They wouldn't need four days.

——————————————————————————————————————

"I'm so nervous," she confessed that afternoon.

"What for?" Demon replied. "You've been a normal mortal girl all your life—why is acting the same way now so different?"

She looked almost pleadingly at the tortoiseshell. "But what if he suspects me? I mean, let's face it, even when I'm acting normal, I'm a strange girl. _So_ strange."

"Come on," he said reassuringly, butting his head against he arm, "what are the chances?"

She scratched him behind the ears. "He burned Hannah. And besides that, he's in the Navy—he has no qualms about killing people."

"James is in the Navy. He has a conscience."

"Was. And besides, I wasn't saying being in the Navy makes you an emotionless killer. I was saying that he's in a profession that demands the deaths of others, and he's killed a person off-duty, too. What's more, a woman. Those bits put together—_that's_ what I mean." She leaned forward with a sigh—she was lying on her stomach straddling the bowsprit, and Demon with her. James was still in his cabin.

"But is he savage enough to kill a child?"

"I'm not so much of a child anymore, though. I turned sixteen a few weeks ago."

"Sixteen and no longer a child? I've never heard such nonsense. That aside, Mandel's been told you're fifteen, so your advantage of youth is more than you think."

She only sighed. "Let's just hope Mandel sees it like that."

——————————————————————————————————————

"Oh you're gonna be fine. You'll look adorable, trust me."

"Eheheh..." This was so awkward. She was soaking in a tub—she had been expecting privacy—but here was a man, a grown man, assigned to attend her. He was here to supervise her washing, dress her, and take care of hair and makeup. However unshy she was—for truthfully she really wasn't very shy in that way—she had no idea how she was supposed to act and such in any situation such as this, and thus denied the flamboyant Mr. Harkness any chance to view what he should not, ordering him to turn around until she had got into the tub.

"Enough dirt in here to fill in a road. Giver yourself a good scrub now." At present, she was as low in the water as she could be and still have her head above the surface, with Mr. Harkness supervising. "What's got you so anxious?" he asked sincerely, though in almost a teasing tone. "Most commodore's-nieces get this treatment with every bath—not to mention those of higher status. Living in the lap of luxury—you should be proud."

As flamboyant as he seemed to be, he made her nervous; for at the same time, he seemed completely straight. Ahh, the _stereotypical conundrum_. And aside from that, he seemed somehow familiar, and she couldn't quite place him. "You're American?" she changed the subject.

"You could say that."

"But you had a British accent earlier."

"Hey, so did you," he countered with a smile. "Sort of. (And it wasn't British, it was supposed to be Welsh.)"

"Yuh—but I get the feeling that most Americans don't talk the way you do."

"You know what else they don't do? They don't refer to themselves as Americans. That hasn't happened yet—not for a few years." He talked like he knew the future—or rather like he knew the past and was present out of his time. Those sparkling, bright blue eyes burned into her, like he knew everything—like he could see everything. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. "I suppose it's time to wash your hair. Don't protest—everyone would be able to tell the difference if you did it and not me. Scandal—and I'd lose my job. Besides, how often do you get to be pampered by a handsome guy like me?" Even when she couldn't see him, she knew that cheeky grin—_where_ had she seen it before? _Springtime for Hitler_ began to play in her head—somehow it was related, but she failed to recognize any connexion. He began to massage the soap into her hair. With his focus absorbed on something other than being generally flirtatious, she felt safe to retreat into her thoughts. "You know, you have great hair. Too bad I can't give you the hairstyle I want to—then I'd get hanged."

She was only half listening, still singing 'The Producers' in her head. An image of the Lead Tenor popped into her mind—it was a blonde version of Mr. Harkness, she realized. Maybe they were parallels. But no, the connexion went deeper than that. Who had played the lead tenor? She had never bothered to learn the actor's name. With a little boost of mental magic, she looked back into her memories with as much detail as possible on the single time she had wiki-ed the character. As soon as she sawr the name, she returned to herself. It was a familiar name; the actor was from one of her favourite television shows—but how long had it been since she had watched tv? Even when she was at home, she didn't watch any more because she was busy trying to keep up with school and magic at the same time. _John Barrowman. Hmmm..._

"You know, you're cute," he told her boldly, casually, after she'd dressed.

"I told you not to look!" He only gave her that eerily familiar cheeky smile. "I can't believe this—stuck with an old man who thinks he's still got it."

"Hey, I _have_ still got it." She noticed he did not deny her claim to his age, even though he really looked very young. "Whoa, hang on a minute, was that a British accent just now? Which one's real and which one's fake?"

"Both of them are real. Now then, where were we?"

"Hair and makeup. Right." he toweled out her hair, brushed through it, and put it into a nice, modest french braid that ran down to the small of her back. "Hopefully this had been invented already. It not, well, one more thing to give me credit for." And on to the makeup. "A little rouge here, some powder there, just te right amount of eye liner, and..." he showed her a mirror, "a fine gentlewoman. What do you think?"

She looked his reflection in the eye. "When did you give up your title as captain?"

He seemed pleasantly surprised. "Well you can't very well have two captains on the same boat, can you? Besides, it wasn't a real title."

"Just like Jack Harkness isn't your real name—although I suppose it's as close as I'll ever get, innit." He smiled thoughtfully at her.

——————————————————————————————————————

"You know what I've just realized?" she asked James as she regarded herself in the glass.

"What?"

"It looks like a maid's dress." She spun around for him to consider.

"Hmm—you know, it does, actually."

"I'm like a dolled up maid! Oh well. At least Jack did a nice job with the make-up. How's my hair?"

"Clean. Jack who?"

"Sorry; Mr. Harkness, the man who was attending me."

"The coxswain, I suppose."

"I guess." And she knew he was one more person who would rebel if necessary. "At least I didn't have to worry about shaving my legs—not that I haven't—but these are nice stockings. No offence, but I never thought you could get clothing to be this white in your Realm." He rolled his eyes. "Too bad they didn't take into account that I haven't got any shoes."

"Yes. What a shame not to have the complete outfit."

"I've got boots—I could wear those."

"No, don't. Don't do that."

"Well what should I do? Go barefoot and make some reference to the Bible?" Barefoot on holy ground and all that...

"Well—it's better than boots, and at least you're not exposing anything with the stockings on; I don't know what else you could do, so I suppose barefoot it is."

"All right." But this would make things awkward—and if there was one thing she was afraid of, it was awkward moments. Thus, an air of uneasiness spread about her. "You know," she attempted humour, "if it was anyone else, I'd take it as an opportunity to mess with them a little bit. But the captain is so—I dunno, funless. I don't think I'd get any reaction out of him."

"And besides that, messing with _him_ could mess things up for _us_."

"So you keep saying," she dismissed his concern. "He might have done some rotten things in the past, but I live in the now, and right now I see no reason not to trust him. Yeah, he whipped you, but that was standard procedure after the lip you gave him—some of the boys told me what you said to him. I'm sorry I missed it—I would've payed to see it. But anyway, as far as I've seen, Mandel's only been doing his job; and there's nothing wrong with that."

"But Amy, he's dangerous," he hissed.

"So are you. Technically. The only danger we've ever known him to be is in the past. That's not how I work; I can't judge a person for who they were; I need to judge them for who they are."

"And I admire that in you, but your penchant for seeing the good in people is blinding you to what may really be going on."

"Look. I understand where you're coming from. I'm not a completely oblivious person—you said it yourself back at the Faithful Bride; if something's not right, I'll know. But until I do, I'm not gonna go around thinking people are out to get me." She sighed unexpectedly. "You're probably right—don't think I don't trust your judgement. But I want to be able to make my own judgements."

"Why the sudden change of heart? Yesterday, you seemed so sure that he was a threat—you _feared_ him—but now, you're defending him."

"Because I _really_ don't want you to be right."

"I—don't understand."

"We keep looking for reasons for this assumption to be right—its really not something you want to be right about. I mean, yeah, I'll keep my guard up—I always have my guard up. It's not like, just because I'm not suspicious of him, I'll flash it around about my magic. I'm not an idiot. But neither am I going to assume he's out to get me."

James sighed. "All right."

"I don't know what's got you like this. It's just supper. One evening."

"Completely alone behind a closed door—and me locked up in here; I wouldn't be able to protect you." He shifted to nurse his arm, which was throbbing. "Besides me being helpless myself as it is."

He would get pulled into one of his black moods if she didn't stop him. With a nod of understanding, she countered. "One: you can free yourself just as easily as I can—you know I enchanted them to snap when you kick hard enough. B—no—Two: I can rake care of myself. You've been training me to fight. You've been tutor and mentor to me and my sword nonstop, and I know I've been getting better. Three, or C: you are not helpless. You're ambidextrous, you're quick, and you're clevah. That's all you need. And, coming in at a very low four, or D, or that little 'iv' in brackets they put in footnotes: bye."

His eyes widened. "What time is it?"

"Time to go. I hear footsteps." As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

"Here to escort the Miss to the Captain's cabin," the officer announced, introducing himself as Jake Perry, acting lieutenant.

"Thank you, sir," she replied promptly, businesslike, taking his offered arm. "See you later, James. Much love. Wish me luck."

"Good luck, love." The door closed. "You may need it."

Topside, for all her Norrington-like composure, Amy couldn't help her heartbeat accelerating as they neared the foreboding door atop the quarterdeck. Upon reaching it, Mr. Perry raised his fist and rapped smartly against the wood. There was a ready "Enter," and the acting lieutenant turned the handle.

"Presenting Miss Norrington, sir," he announced with a salute.

"Thank you, Mr. Perry." The midshipman nodded and left.

"Welcome, Miss Norrington," Captain Mandel greeted her as the door closed, and for half a moment, he looked pleasant. "Come, child, have a seat," pulling out a chair.

"Thank you, Captain, and good evening," she replied British-ly as she gathered her skirts. And so it began.

"The food will arrive in a few minutes. Why don't we talk while we wait?"

"Of course, sir."

"Firstly I must say that your dress is very nice, miss. It becomes you. How did you come by it?—surely you didn't bring it?"

"No, sir. As soon as James heard I was to come to dine, he decided that I should have a dress and sent for one to be made; he'll have the money to pay for it as soon as we make berth."

"I see. No shoes though, I noticed." His gaze hardened slightly, and for a moment she felt danger.

"Yes, well we didn't realize I had no proper shoes in time. All I have are my boots, which I thought inappropriate."

"Quite right, my dear," and the feeling was gone. "You and Mr. Norrington are related, I hear?"

"Distantly. But he looks after me."

"Should it not be the other way around?"

"Sir?"

"Most madmen themselves require looking after."

"Oh. Well he never went mad until he got flogged." And he hasn't been mad since, she was tempted to add.

"Then an unfortunate chance of events. But a flogging like that would not be enough to break any man, much less an iron-will like him. Something must have driven him over the edge some time ago." Again that sense of danger.

"Well I can only imagine what," she answered carefully, though competently. "It's a wonder that any man who is on the constant lookout for danger and who has been in as many fights and battles, hasn't gone mad."

The feeling was still there. "Perhaps. This life has been known to push many to paranoia, and yes, even to madness. But he had the stuffs of a man unaffected. Would it, do you think, have anything to do with his mysterious disappearance nearly two years past?"

"Oh I wouldn't know anything about that. I only met him in the last year. And in all the time I've known him, he never seemed off until a couple days ago, when it happened."

"Is that so. And you know nothing about his disappearance?"

"I hadn't been aware that he had disappeared until just now, sir."

"Of course you weren't." Something inside her clicked, and a wave of apprehension swept over her; it had gone in the next moment.

After a short silence, she said, "She is a lovely ship, sir. Beautiful, powerful, not to mention spacious."

This seemed to satisfy him. "Yes, miss. And for all her size, she moves quickly."

"Like a horse, if you don't mind my comparison."

"How so?"

"Horses look like great lumbering creatures at first sight, but they are swift, graceful, and noble."

Mandel smiled—it was the first smile she's ever seen, and she didn't know whether to be pleased. "Quite so, Miss Norrington."

"And how cavernous a cabin! Any other captain's cabins I've been in were half as large at the most." Amy didn't like how the subject had been centered on her these last few minutes. She hoped piling compliments would save her from conversations too personal until the food arrived.

"Other cabins such as that of the _Black Pearl_, am I correct?" It had been too much to hope. "If you will excuse my asking; I know very little about who you are." Without waiting for her consent, he went on. "What of your connexions with Sparrow? How did you meet?"

"He saved me from the sea, and sort of took it onto himself to keep me safe."

"How did you come to be in the open water?"

"Shipwreck," she lied. "How I got separated from my parents."

"And he took responsibility, did he? Spontaneously, without getting to know you first? How very unlike a pirate."

"Even Jack Sparrow has a conscience, sir."

"He never used to. Tell me, how did he propose to protect you in such a dangerous profession as his?"

"He was going to drop me off to stay with the Turners while he went out pirating."

"Yet despite his efforts, danger still found you."

Her spine stiffened. "Sir?"

"Rumour has it you were very nearly burned at the stake. They thought you a witch?"

"Crazy, isn't it?" she replied with a nervous laugh.

"It is. How did you survive that, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Jack and James saved me."

"They worked together to save you? Two sworn enemies? How curious."

"It's amazing what love can do, sir. It changes people."

"And I suppose it was love that changed the minds of everyone in the rumoured angry mob in an instant?"

"No, sir, I believe it was respect for James that quelled them."

"And yet you feel safe to return to Port Royal?" Mandel continued with a look of well-meant concern. "Does anyone still think you are guilty?"

"No," she replied immediately. Then, realizing she had answered too abruptly, added, "Well, no one has ever come after me since. The removal of Mr. Welsh was all that was needed."

"And how was he removed?"

"James had him arrested."

"And what happened to him after that?"

"I've no idea."

There was a staccato beat of silence, before Mandel opened his mouth to say something else. But he was interrupted by a knock at the door to announce the food. To herself, Amy sighed a breath of relief. They had stayed on that subject much too long, and he had been asking too many, albeit harmless, questions.

Jack Harkness, as the coxswain, entered with the tray of food, and out the corner of her eye, she saw the small shape of Demon dart in through the door, and felt him curl up at her feet under the table. At least she wasn't alone anymore. Although with Jack here... she could only hope he wouldn't be flirtatious now of all times.

"Supper is served," he announced, fake Welsh accent back in place, as he set the entrée on the table. He pulled off the lid to reveal a steaming hunk of mutton.

_Thank God_, she thought with relief.

"Were you expecting something else to eat, Miss Norrington?" Mandel asked, eyeing her relief critically.

"I'm just glad it isn't horse, sir."

"And why is that?"

"I like horses, sir. The alive kind." She saw Jack smile to himself a bit as he began to carve and serve the meat.

To go with the sheep, there was a smattering of mixed vegetables, seasoned and etc. Amy looked at the carrots and the squash and the asparagus with dread, knowing she could not be polite and picky about her food at the same time. "Wine, sir?"

"Yes. For the Miss as well." Uh-oh. If there was one thing she dreaded most, it was the taste of the wine. Yuhh... Jack took up the decanter and filled both glasses, giving her a wink as he did.

"If it's not too bold to ask," she forced herself to pipe up as he was heading for the door, "may I also have some water?"

"O' course, Miss Norrington," he replied with one of his charming smiles, not bothering to look to his captain for permission, and exiting. It was an innocent enough request.

"How about a toast, Miss?"

"I—I don't know anything about giving toasts, sir, but—Good health to the King, long may he live."

"Here here," Mandel raised his glass and drank. Amy herself lifted a glass and tipped it back, but only pretended to drink. For all its good smell, she knew it'd taste horrible.

And so they attacked their meals with well-refined gusto. It was her first time having mutton, and it was _goood._ And, for all her disdain of the vegetables present, she managed to down them without making a face. Still, there was a problem. At any meal, she usually drank as much as she ate. As thirst began to clawr at her throat, she cast about for something to drink. Not the wine. Anything but the wine. Lucky for her, Harkness returned just then with her water. And with relief, she dared to relax a little.

She still wasn't quite sure how to cut her meat without sawing at it like a child, and she felt Mandel watching her critically. Subtly, ever subtly, she allowed herself to hear his thoughts, just very faintly, imperceptible to his consciousness. _She is holding her knife wrong, and her fork as well. Like an urchin. Just as I expected._

_And that's where you're wrong,_ she thought to herself, adjusting her grip and sawing away with a little more grace.

When the mutton was finished, Mandel rang his bell and Jack returned with two steaming crocks of the cook's famous chowder. A little out of order then. Oh well. It would go down nicely after that mutton. At least this time she knew which spoon to use.

"So the miss likes horses," Mandel began as they waited for the soup to cool. "Might that have anything to do with Jack Sparrow and his strange enchantment?"

"No, although it was a rather strange coincidence."

"I suppose you are referring to the fact that he did not become cursed until you met him."

Her spine stiffened; this was too close to an accusation. Demon put his par on her foot in warning. "Yes sir, although I can assure you it had nothing to do with my presence. I was merely cast into his life at the same time that whatever 'enchanting' event took place." That wasn't quite how she'd meant to phrase it, but there was hardly any better way. "I mean—."

"I understand, Miss Norrington," Mandel replied with an almost-smile and an almost-pleasantness. Demon removed his paw. Amy stirred her soup and watched the steam rise. "Have you heard about his death?"

She deflated. "Jack's? I've heard very little, and it saddened me so."

"No one knows how he died; only that there is one less pest on these waters."

"A pest, perhaps, but like family nonetheless, sir."

"It is a curious thing," Mandel went on, ignoring the remark, "how something so subtle as not to be noticed could spell the demise of a man even the Navy could not detain."

"I only wish I could have been with him to say goodbye." _But soon I'll be saying 'hello', you ignorant—_

"It would seem the soup has cooled enough to eat. Shall we partake?"

"We shall, sir, and leave this dreadful subject behind." And, as daintily as she dared, she dug into the chowder. Conversation turned to more petty things after that, and she began to feel safe again—not that she hadn't as it was, she mused, but...

Dessert was soon served; a rich pudding. "You look uncertain, Miss," he commented as she stared at the wobbly mass before her. "Have you not had pudding before?"

"No, sir." Not this kind, anyway. "And if you don't mind my saying, sir, it looks disgusting."

"Perhaps you should try it."

"Aye, sir." And she tasted a spoonful. It was a lot better than she had been expecting. But what could it be made of? She was afraid to think. Hopefully it was just eggs and cream and flavouring.

"Are you aware of what will happen upon your arrival in Port Royal, Miss Norrington?"

"I know that James will stand trial."

"And upon being found guilty, he will be hung."

"I would much rather he be placed in a mental facility. He can no longer be held accountable for his actions." Not that a madhouse was much better.

"Well, miss, that shall be up to the Admiral and the court to decide."

She nodded as though this were what was going to happen to me, sir? I have no other family."

"Then I suppose you will be back on the streets again, Miss, unless you can find work or have friends to stay with. I am terribly sorry for your misfortune."

"So am I, sir, so am I."

"On the subject of what happens to our Mr. Norrington, you said you knew nothing of his disappearance two years ago. What of his disappearance a few months ago, near the beginning of this year?" Her spine stiffened, and Demon's paw was back. _Shoot!_ "For I remember you said you met him a year ago."

"How did he disappear?" she asked, stalling for time to think up a good cover.

"Upon betraying His Majesty's Royal Navy by letting the ironically late Sparrow escape, he sought to add to the crime by deserting on the spot. Pursuit led the more respectable officers to a half-collapsed barn, which all had seen him enter. However, upon investigation, there was no sign of him. The building was empty. And further searched proved he was not on the island; which is why we took to the sea. He simply vanished."

The rational part of her mind told her that he had every right to be curious—any man would seek answers to a mystery like that—and she allowed herself to relax just a little. _Don't worry_, she thought to Demon, who stubbornly kept a warning paw on her foot. "Perhaps he escaped and put on some distance while the marines were checking the building." Mandel nodded, as though he were beginning to understand. "I mean, the more time the men spent searching, the bigger a head start James was gaining." The captain sat back, seeming to be satisfied with this answer. They returned to their neglected pudding.

Amy was almost giddy with relief—supper was nearly over, and nothing had gone wrong. The only problem was, she didn't know how to take her leave. "Thank you, Captain Mandel," she began. "That was lovely."

"The evening is young, miss. If you like, we can relax and talk over some wine."

"I hope it is not an offense, but I am rather tired, sir. May I take my leave?"

He leaned forward in his chair. "Won't you at least have some wine, Miss? You've barely touched it all night—and it is such good wine, too."

"Of course, sir." With a pleasant smile, she lifted the glass and took a sip. _Why, this isn't wine at all; it's grape juice. Really sweet grape juice. Mmm... Tastes like candy—_. She had a real shock. Wine didn't taste like candy, and neither did grape juice. _Tincture of opium!_ He had been trying to get her to talk all along!

She could not hide her surprise fast enough. That feeling of danger returned, as Mandel rose from his seat. "Please, Miss, won't you have another drink?" he asked in mocking tones. "It's rude to leave a quality drink unfinished." Amy jumped up from her seat and ran for the door. She flung it open and raced out into the dimming daylight, Demon skittering out behind her. "Stop her!" she heard Mandel shout, and she felt hands grabbing for her. She had to get to James. But enough men were chasing after her, and she was soon caught. _Help me!_ she thought to him frantically as she was dragged back, kicking and struggling, to the captain—but her nephew's mind was otherwise occupied, and she wasn't sure he'd heard her.

"Sir," she heard Theodore behind her. "What is going on?" She tried to turn around to look at him, but the marines holding her arms would not allow it. And without the use of her arms, she could not magic.

"This girl is guilty of several crimes, among which is the crime of witchcraft. Carpenter! Is it ready?"

"Aye, sir." And she realized that the pile of wood to starboard had a purpose: it was a stake and platform, much like the one back at Port Royal, all those months ago. _No, no, no, no, no!_

"That's preposterous!" Cries of disagreement rang out.

"I heard her speak it with my own ears." Silence on the ship. "She will stand trial immediately." The crew assembled around them. "Over the course of our conversation in my cabin, I have inferred her responsibility for several crimes, all of which are related to witchcraft. In chronological order: she sank whatever ship she had been traveling on, drowning everyone aboard—whether or not her parents really were aboard is debatable. She then proceeded to enchant Jack Sparrow to her will, which is the reason the _Black_ _Pearl_ landed in Port Royal, and also the reason for his horse-related curse. The _Miss_ has stated that she likes horses very much. Another man saw through her innocent facade and attempted to bring her to justice. But this time she enchanted someone of stature; someone of power: Commodore Norrington, who, with the already enchanted Jack Sparrow, came to her rescue. Whether the mob quieted out of respect for either of these men remains to be seen; but that an entire town of mobbing citizens would drop their aggression immediately and never speak of it again reeks of suspicion."

"And can you explain any of these accusations, sir?" Groves interrupted cautiously.

"Yes I can. If my first points: This girl, or so we have assumed, had barely met Jack Sparrow before he fell victim to his strange equine curse. And do you not think it strange that, of all the ships that might have come upon her, the ship claimed to be the fastest in all the Caribbean was the one that picked her up? Of the latter points: how many people have been set afire at the stake and survived? I understand that the occasional innocent may have lost her life to the flames; but it is the ones who survive who surely must have black magic on their side. Leftenant Groves told me himself that our dear former-Commodore seemed content to watch her burn before suddenly jumping in to play the hero." Amy's head shot up to glare accusingly at Theodore, but he avoided her gaze. "And," Mandel went on, "for all the time that Sparrow remained in Port Royal after then, no one came after him; it is rumoured he even stayed in the Governor's mansion." A pause to let all of this sink in. "Do the officers have any evidence to refute this?" Silence from the lieutenants, although Mr. Perry was looking appropriately pissed off at his captain. "Does the witness have anything to say?"

It was a few moments before Theodore realized everyone was looking at him. "Er—James never looked content to watch her die. He just seemed to be struggling to make a decision that, once made, had to be acted upon quickly. Aside from that, sir, I do not think his honour would allow him to let a young woman die, guilty or not—especially one related to him. And he does not believe in witches."

_Actually you're wrong there, Teddy_, she thought ruefully. _He does now_.

"Can you find fault with the rest of the proof examined?"

"Well, sir, it's not really proof. We don't know what really went on." The other officers suddenly didn't look so sure.

"I understand that, Lieutenant. I merely bring up these points to make you all think—and think very hard. How could so many 'lucky coincidences' be allotted one ordinary, insignificant girl?" The other lieutenants looked really unsure now—even Perry was looking thoughtful. "Perhaps I shall bring up further points to persuade you."

_Don't do anything yet,_ Ames told herself. _Give them a chance._ She _could_ get out of here right quick—but that would only prove Mandel right. She would wait and see it the crew would rebel—but it would be really close. Rebellions like these never happened till the last minute.

"Mr. Norrington," the captain went on self-assuredly, "very recently betrayed the Navy by allowing his worst enemy to escape on the claim that they were brothers. Hatred like theirs does not just disintegrate into brotherly love instantaneously—and to add to the crime, he deserted on the spot. You can see the unlikelihood of all this; we all know what he did to get his job back when he lost it the first time. We all know what it means to him. James Norrington would not give it up for the world, much less for Jack Sparrow, unless enchanted. And to top off that day of uncanny experiences, he vanished into thin air. The girl claims he found an exit; but the building, as I know it, was surrounded."

"I didn't claim it; jes' suggested it," she corrected him with an unintentional Cockney.

"Yes, but you seemed _very_ certain." She certainly did _not_ like that gleam in his eyes. "Now, James Norrington is a strong man, I'll give him that. Strong in body, strong in mind, and strong in will. He is not the sort of man to be broken, nor is he weak enough to succumb to whatever enchantments that have been placed upon him. Inside his soul, he has been fighting her spells until it drove him mad. I'm sure you all noticed that _she_ was the only one who could calm him when he lost control." He shot her an accusing look.

"He cares about me, that's all," she replied haughtily. "If it had been Elizabeth instead of me, the same thing would have happened."

"Would it? I dare say Mrs. Turner would have been certain enough of her own safety to hug a madman who is pointing a gun at her!"

"But I didn't feel safe at all—I was scared out of my mind."

"Then why did you not run?"

"I care about him too much. I could never leave him like that."

"Of course, he is much too valuable a minion to lose." He turned back to the assembly. "He vanished out of Port Royal, and the next time we see him, months later, he is a different man, like a caged animal; unpredictable; unstable. I do not know what happened the first time he disappeared, years ago, but I will venture to guess that she was responsible for that as well."

"She was not," Theodore piped up. "I was there. Even if what you say is true, there is no way she could have been involved."

"And how can you know that?"

"What happened then was between him and God."

That shut him up. "Very well. Thank you, Mr Groves."

"Sir."

"With all of this that has been inferred, I would even venture to say that she is somehow related to the cause of Jack Sparrow's death. But I will not hold that against her, for in that case she did us a favour. However, no deed, however helpful, can be considered a good deed if it was done with black magic."

She heard a few murmurs in the crowd. Were they agreeing? Was Mandel succeeding? She couldn't tell, but it was starting to look like this wouldn't turn out so well. She consulted her famous intuition, but could sense nothing. _Great, just when I need it most_, she grumbled to herself.

"Even this very day I ran afoul of more evidence against her case. She dared to enter my cabin barefoot like a heathen, her intent, I imagine, to enchant me as well. She can hear your thoughts."

This was where the crew had had enough, and they cried out how ridiculous it was. Apparently even witches can't read minds.

"I give you only the truth. As I observed her etiquette, I thought to myself what she was doing wrong. And as _soon _as I thought it, she fixed the very thing I was thinking of."

"Perhaps she noticed her own mistakes at the same time as you, sir."

"No urchin would know how to correct their grip on a knife and fork. No urchin suddenly remembers which utensil goes in which hand." There was a collective 'Hmmm' of discontent from the men—many of them had been considered urchins once, and they regarded their own manners as decent enough. Mandel failed to hear this. "And, she knew—she _knew_—to ask for water when she was served wine. She _knew_, without ever having a sip, that I had mixed tincture of opium into it to loosen up her lips a little." _That_ got the crew riles up.

"Aha," smirked the lass, despite her restraints. "That's where the real dishonesty is revealed. You betrayed the trust of an innocent girl like me, by slipping a drug into her drink—all because you are a suspicious, bitter old man." Mandel scowled, and before he could retort, she went on: "D'you know what's wrong with all your 'evidence', Captain? _Do_ you? It's based entirely on the assumption that a lot of good luck and coincidences makes me a witch. Look at Uncle Sparrow, will you? He runs into _many_ strange coincidences, and his good luck is legendary. And yet, no one accuses _him_ of witchcraft."

"You know, she has a point there," someone in the crowd yelled, and there were nods of agreement all around.

"You mustn't listen to what she says. Her words only convince you because she is enchanting you. Do not hear them."

"You're going to make these men suspicious of every person they trust, you idiot man," she protested. "If you won't hear my words, then hear their meaning. This is not an age where we burn people based on primitive suspicions. This is an age where we begin to move _forward._"

"You see how easily she changes your mind! Tie her to the stake; she shall burn!"

"Sir, I really don't think—."

"I am the judge here, as we all know, and I deem her guilty. Tie her. Now!"

_Darnit, James was right._ She was hauled up onto the platform, which she learned was hollow, and tied securely to the stake. Not once did she get the chance to move her arms or legs to magic—but she was still waiting for the crew to make their move.

"Sir, a fire on this ship would be catastrophic."

"It is a good job I thought of that. Haul her up!" And she was hoisted up, be a system of pulleys attached to the stake, until the contraption was dangling over the water, hanging from the end of a yardarm. "The ropes will burn through, and it will fall into the water, you see? If she does now burn to death first, then she will drown." Struggling to keep her balance—and her dinner—Amy looked out over the men. The crew were getting ready. She saw a few marines priming their guns at the back of the crowd. And she did not fail to notice Jack Harkness reaching into his coat for what was surely a weapon of some sort. He gave her a huge wink and a suppressed grin.

"You know, sir, I believe I've found another flaw in your court: you never gave me a chance to defend myself."

"Nothing you can say will cloud my judgement. I know the truth."

"So I'm defenseless. A defenseless girl of sixteen." A few murmurs among the crowd.

"I was told you were fifteen."

"Is that so? Then you would've been willing to kill me even younger?"

"Any witch deserves death, no matter the age. Your black magic has corrupted your youth and stolen your innocence. Therefore, I condemn you to burn for eternity."

"Captain, maybe we should refrain—," Richards began, but Mandel cut him off.

"Refrain? She is a threat to the lives of others. It is our duty to eradicate such threats."

"It is your duty," came a voice, and all heads turned to see James striding through the crowd, shirtless once more, an extra bandage wrapped about his elbow, "to protect and preserve life; Not condone its end."

Mandel's face was a mix of surprise and fury. "What are you doing up here? How did you get out of your bonds?"

"I've broken through chains before; did you think mere rope could hold me?" he answered vaguely. "Stop this, Mandel. Let her go."

"How could you have known what is happening here? You cannot hear anything from those sickbay cabins."

"Well when your surgeon attempted to bleed me to death, I figured something was up." And here, several crew looked skyward in confusion. Ames would have smiled if she were not being sentenced to death.

Instead, she glared accusingly at Mandel. "'You've been planning this from the beginning. Ever since you learned my name,'" in her best Will voice.

"I did as I saw fit. Now, burn for eternity, witch, and may God curse thy soul." And he raised his pistol to point it at her—although for the life of her, she couldn't figure how that would light the stake. And she wouldn't find out just yet, as the sounds of hundreds of guns being cocked swept over the ship. "What is the meaning of this mutiny!" Mandel cried, furious, when he saw the crew—marines and sailors alike—aiming all matter of firearms at him.

"Did it ever occur to you that you might be wrong?" James asked, almost mockingly (and very Kadaj-like), taking a challenging step toward him. "They certainly think you are. They've been against your judgement from the beginning." He continued still nearer with the silent challenge, the crew surrounding both. If it came to a duel, there would be very little room. "It would seem that witch-hunting doesn't receive the support it once had." Mandel accepted the challenge with a few carefully placed steps toward his adversary, gun still aimed at the wooden platform hanging from the yardarm.

"Enchantment. This entire ship is enchanted with her. Otherwise they would not defend her with mutiny."

"Or perhaps they just like her. She is rather likeable, after all." They drew nearer to one another. "You need to get out of the last century and into this one, you old lizard. Killing a witch is still considered murder, no matter how you phrase it." They stopped, eye to eye, nose to nose, glaring fatally at one another.

"In defense of a stranger, they will act," the captain said with a twisted smile. "But they will not act, to defend their own." The gun shifted from Amy to rest on one of the crew—the youngest ship's boy aboard, of an infantile eight years of age. Silence on the ship. "Drop your weapons, or the boy dies." To the dismay of James and Amy (not to mention Demon, Theodore, Jack, and others), several crew dropped their guns on the spot.

"This Navy has already been led to kill children once. Will you allow that nightmare to come alive a second time?" This was a dangerous place to be in. Many of the crew were now weighing their options, frozen with uncertainty. It could go either way. Amy herself thought she understood: she couldn't ask them to choose her, a strange stranger, over one of their own. "Will you ever allow that memory to die? Or shall an innocent girl be the one to die instead? Listen to me: your captain is not right in the head—that is to say, he's worse off than I. You cannot indulge his fantasy. You cannot—." He broke off, stiffening. He had taken his eyes off Mandel to look imploringly at the crew, and in that time, the captain had taken a knife and stabbed it into his side.

"JAMES!!" His surprise had hardly registered on his face before he was falling, falling; crumpling to the deck.

Assuming him no longer a threat, and taking advantage of his crew's distraction, a handful rushing out to the fallen commander, he turned his gun to Amy, and pulled the trigger. There was a loud _crack!_ as it fired. She barely had time to realize that he had missed her before there was an explosion beneath her, and the platform burst into flame. The hollow space under her feet had been filled with gunpowder. As vermillion flames rose before her, she knew it was time magic her way out. All she needed was to take a deep breath and she could blow it out. But the smoke choked her, and she couldn't breathe—just like in her vision. It had been her only option and it was gone. With her hands and feet tied so tightly, she couldn't make the graceful sweeping motions to summon the water, nor the dance-like moves to summon the wind. She couldn't magic! Perhaps one day she would be advanced enough to flick a finger and control the elements, but as it was, she still needed a lot of training. This was when she knew she should panic—inside her mind she was hyperventilating—but outwardly she felt remarkably calm. Even so, it seemed she was looking death in the eyes, and she stared at the flames only inches from her skin, frightened, frightened, but not yet in a full-on panic.

James found himself surrounded by a handful mixed of sailors and marines upon drowsily coming to. The wound, though deep and still with knife in, was not fatal; it had merely hit a pressure point, knocking him into a dead faint. A couple of sailors cried out in surprise as he came back to life, but he was unaware. The fuzziness in his mind only allowed him to focus on one thing, and we all know what that was. He motioned for a pistol and one was handed to him. The huddle around him parted to give him a clear shot, and with very careful aim, he fired.

Amy heard the second shot, instantly assuming that Mandel had been too impatient to let her burn. Instead, she felt herself falling—the rope that had held her up been severed by the shot—to plunge into the sea, flames quenched instantly with a loud hiss of protest. That was all well and dandy, except that now she was floating ten feet below the surface tied to the stake and what remained of the platform, with no way of getting to the surface. She struggled against her bonds, to be sure, but made little progress. This was it then. As her vision darkened, she prayed her final prayer and succumbed herself to death.

* * *

Hahaha, I am so mean to my readers. You'd better 'stay tuned' if you wanna find out what happens!

REVIEW!! Plz.


	35. The Serpent's Fang

WOOHOO! I'm on schedule for once! Even Fears has been updated in time! Now if only there were people reading this, that fact might be appreciated.

Thanks to: **Silence Is Mithril**, **Captain Rika Kisuktai**, and **Little Miss Sparrow** for the loverly reviews. Although I am sad to only have three reviewers anymore, I am glad they are you.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Thirty-Five: The Fang of the Asp**

But before she could fully lose consciousness, she felt someone cutting through her bonds, and strong arms taking her into their embrace, carrying her up, up. At first she thought it was James—after all, it must have been him who'd shot the cord through. But this was not the sturdy form that had carried her so many times before. _Oh well_, she thought blearily. _All that matters is he's saved me._ They broke through the surface and she gasped for breath, sobbing as her mind cleared and her consciousness fully returned. "Miss Norrington, are you all right?" her rescuer demanded in an American accent.

She coughed up some water and replied shakily, "I will be." Once she had gotten her winds again, she opened her eyes to see that yes, Jack Harkness had been the one to save her. She looked around to see that they were floating in the sparkling blue water, the great shape of the _Oblivion_ looming not far off. Everything seemed brighter than it had been, all the colours more vivid and beautiful than she remembered them being, despite the fading light as the sun set. She was surprised it wasn't dark yet. Had all that really happened in just a few minutes? It felt like hours. Taking a deep, calming breath to quell her tears, she turned to look at her rescuer, whose eyes, in accordance with all the other colours, seemed bluer than ever. "Thank you."

He smiled and winked. "It's a bad habit I've got; always playing hero to the damsel in distress... Let's get back on the boat." She nodded her assent, too weary to correct him, and they made their way to the side of the _ship_, where there was a ladder built into the side for getting in and out of boats. A convenient wave swept them within reach of the rungs—whether it was coincidence or magic even the author doesn't know—and they climbed up. A great cheer went around as her feet hit the deck, and she looked about to see the whole of the crew surrounding them.

She sawr Leftenant Richards striding vehemently toward Mandel, who had already been restrained by Theodore, the third and fourth lieutenants, and Mr Perry. "George Mandel, in light of the events that have just taken place, you are no longer fit to command, and I hereby relieve you of your duties. Men, brig."

"No! You have no right! I am your superior, Richards. You take orders from _me_. This is mutiny! I'll see you all hanged!"

"Get him out of my sight." With that looked like great satisfaction, Theodore shoved his former captain toward the companionway.

"No! Listen to me: she's bewitched you! She's made you do this! She is _forcing_ you to betray me!"

"Shut yer trap, you cold-blooded beasty," cried a sailor, taking up James' idea of calling him a reptile—and forever branding him such. The crew, and even the marines, roared their agreement in a great cheer, and Mandel was led below.

Theodore broke away from the group, as the marines had it sorted, and approached the lass, who was still leaning against Harkness for support, panting heavily, and wiping tears from her eyes—now that it was all over and the adrenaline was dying, emotions that had been smothered were taking over. "Miss Norrington, I am truly, truly sorry for what happened. I want you to know that when I told Mandel about what happened before, I had no intention of hurting you. We've always known he was a little off—but I never suspected he would go so far."

"I understand completely, Rebecca." This earned her several odd looks. "And I forgive you." It was too easy to blame him and make a scene: but she just wanted it to be over.

Relief flowed across his face. "Thank you."

They looked up as James came gingerly toward them, a hand clutching his stomach. Demon prowled beside him, pressed against his leg as if to offer support. "James!" She rushed toward him, all exhaustion forgotten, and flung her arms around his neck. He grunted in pain. "Sorry—are you all right?—What! You haven't even taken the knife out yet!"

"I didn't want to waste time taking care of it. The knife's keeping it from bleeding outright." His face softened at her concern. "It's not that bad. Honestly. I'll have it sorted after we make way. We're leaving as soon as possible."

"Great. Let's be rid of this God-forsaken ship—however beautiful she may be," she said with a vague gesture. "One day, I'll make us a ship even bigger and better, and more beautiful to boot."

"I'm sure Jack would like that," James replied softly.

Suddenly, one of the midshipmen pointed at the starboard cutter. "The wind's carried the embers!" It was true: the ropes holding the little boat in the air were smouldering.

"That's our ride," Amy announced. "As soon as she falls, we're outta here." James shot her an accusing look.

"But there are no provisions aboard except shot and powder," the newly-promoted Captain Richards reminded them.

She grinned wryly in his direction. "Already taken care of."

Richards looked at Theodore. "I'll want that cutter back, Groves, so you go with them. When they reach their destination, bring it back. Hire out some townspeople if you need to."

"Aye sir," he replied with salute.

"You're my first lieutenant now, so do not do anything dangerous on your way; you are no expendable man."

"Aye sir."

"I'm coming too," Jack announced, pulling on a trench coat which definitely lacked the qualities of an eighteenth-century frock. "Except I don't think I'll be coming back." Even the Welsh accent was gone.

"Excuse me?" the new captain was more than a little miffed. How could the faithful coxswain desert the Navy?

"Look, you're cute and all, but I've got stuff to do." And with a broad grin and a huge wink, he swung up onto the cutter. Amy handed Demon up to him. James glanced at the burning ropes, then at her, as though he didn't quite approve, before they both climbed up. Theodore went last, exchanging final saluted with his new boss.

"All right, lads, hold on to something!" the lass warned. A few tense moments passed, and then the ropes snapped, and the plummeted into the sea. The little boat wobbled something terrible before settling and bobbing gently on the waves, as though she enjoyed the feel of water under her hull.

James glared at his aunt. "The burning ropes were your doing, weren't they? There was an easier way of getting out of there!"

"But it would have taken half the night!" It was getting very dim now. The last rays of the sun were fading. "I've spent all my patience waitin' for _that_ to happen. I'nt got anymore!"

With a sigh, he sat down by the tiller, hanging one arm over it. "At least we are away from _there_. All hands ready to make way." Groves and Amy scurried into position—Jack, not quite knowing what to do with himself, sought to get out of the way. "Loose the mains'l." The large gaff-rigged sail was hauled up the mast, and tied into place. "Set the stays'l." The triangular sail immediately in front of the mast was unfurled. "Amy, some wind if you please." Grinning to herself, she mimed pushing a heavy object, and a brisk wind kicked up, filling the two sails. The cutter responded immediately, and they were on their way, leaving that dreadful warship behind.

"Goodbye, _Oblivion_," the girl waved to the giant ship. "I hope you'll be happier with your new captain." She caught sight of Jack looking out of place at the railing and poked an accusing finger in his chest. "_You_ need to learn how to sail. Your lessons begin once we've all had a good night's sleep—which can't happen until we get _you_," she turned to James, "taken care of."

"Get me some bandages and water, then."

"Aye aye, captain," she saluted. James rolled his eyes as she scurried down the hatchway.

"Theodore, find five points north of west, if you please."

Groves opened his compass. "That way, sir," he pointed.

Norrington thanked him with a nod and leaned against the tiller to set their course for Cuba. "We should arrive at our destination in about a week if the wind holds. If I am correct, Mandell was taking us to London, not Port Royal."

"Yes. I suppose he wanted to buy himself time in case something went awry." There was an awkward silence. "I really am sorry, James. Once again I trusted my superiors instead of my friends."

James looked up. "So we are still friends, then?"

"If you'll have me."

The shirtless man grinned, and they shared a heartfelt handshake. The lass returned, bounding toward them with an armful of bandages and a bucket of water. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"Right. You, Harkenss," he looked to Jack. "Hold the tiller steady so we run a straight course."

"Aye-aye," he said with some amusement, taking hold of the great wooden beam.

"Pay attention, Amy. You're about to get your first lesson in doctoring. How are you with blood?"

"I have no idea. I know I'm not great with all the blood in horror movies, but I hear they make people bleed more than they really would. Like on Torchwood, for example." That caught Jack's attention. "Oh, I forgot," she pretended to buy his initial pretense, "You guys don't have TV yet."

"Amy. Stay on subject." She shrugged sheepishly at James. "Now, before we can do anything, the knife must come out first." He fixed his grip on the handle, gritted his teeth, and pulled it out with a sigh. The pain must have been intense, but he surely knew it was a superficial wound, because his speech was not in any way impaired or affected. "Wash it out, if you please," was all he said, casual as if they were cooking lunch back in her realm. She did as bidden, wiping away the blood and whatever else. He did not flinch, but his pain was visible. "Theodore."

"Right. I need a needle."

"Will this work?" she produced a needle from her skirts.

"I would have hoped for a surgeon's needle, but I suppose a sewing one is better than nothing. All right, James, you know how it is. Are you ready?"

"Just do it." As tense as he was, after the first few stitches he relaxed, and looked around with his usual alertness, as though completely unaffected. He turned his head to consider Jack. "So what made you decide to come with us?"

"Well with you injured I figured you'd need another hand sailing."

"You had a good job, decent wages; why would you give that up to help us, who you do not know? And on top of that, you can't sail."

Jack sighed. "Look, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but the only reason I came is because _she_ seemed to know more about me than she should."

James rounded on the lass with some severity: "Have you been in his head? Even after what happened with Mandel?"

"No. I just recognised him, that's all."

His face dropped. "Recognised him from where?"

"A television show." Theodore was beginning to look confused at what he was hearing.

"Whoa whoa whoa, since when has there been a show about Torchwood? That's classified stuff!"

"Ever since Captain Jack Harkness came back to life in the last episode of the first season of Doctor Who. It became a spin-off to the main series."

"All right, I'm confused. You're talking like I'm a fictional character."

"That's right. Just like these two."

"Excuse me?" To say Groves was confuzzled would be the understatement of the century.

"Where I come from, these two are characters in a movie, and you're a character in a television series. You exist in your own realms, but are considered non-existent in mine."

"Whuh—realms?"

"Realms, universes..."

Jack sighed. "I thought I was in another time; I had no idea I was in another universe."

"How'd you get here, anyway?" He cocked his head, reaching into his pocket and taking out a metallic wristband sporting a giant yellow button. "The time-hopper."

'I thought I'd finally gotten it to work again. I guess not. And when it stopped working I knew I'd have to wait until the present again. What is it, two hundred years?"

"More. So that's why you were on the _Oblivion_. It was because you were trying to get back to Cardiff, not because you were the sea-faring type."

"And for the record, I knew you weren't Welsh," Theodore put in. "You're set, James. Just don't push it for a few days, all right?"

"I'll stick to the tiller, don't you worry."

"And now onto these other scars. This one on your shoulder looks recent. So does this one between your ribs; it looks rather nasty."

"It was pretty deep. And the one on my shoulder had me in a sling for ages. You cannot begin to imagine how bored I was getting, having to take it slow for so long."

"Knowing you, I think I can. And these on your chest; they look like claws."

"Bear. It's a _long_ story."

"I believe there are a lot of long stories you haven't been telling me," he replied coldly. "I've been patient with you thus far, but I am tired of being left in the dark. I demand to be told what is going on."

"Amy—"

"I think he's earned our trust by now, Ellie." _Besides_, she added in his mind, _Tia Dalma can always teach me a spell that will make him forget._ James silenced his complaints, and she turned back to Groves. "You know how Mandel thought I was a witch?"

"Of course I do."

"Well—he wasn't that far off."

"You must be joking. You know, that really is insulting; do you really think me that much of a fool?"

"It's true!"

"Do you believe any of this?" he turned to Norrington, cheeks reddening with indignance.

"Yes," came the solemn reply.

"And what about you?" he rounded on Jack.

"I'm not really sure what to believe, to tell you the truth."

"Whether you want to or not, they are telling the truth, and you will have to square with that someday," Demon piped up, earning him shocked looks from both Rebecca and Jack. "Hey, stop staring; you're pulling us off course."

"And now that we've told you, we're going to stick to it, you hear? If it ends up being too much for you to handle, too bad. You asked for it."

"All right, I'll leave it be for now. You get some sleep, James. I don't care how fine you feel; you need rest." Grudgingly, the former-commodore did as bidden.

"Why don't you get some sleep too, Theodore? Jack and I can hold a straight course." The leftenant nodded and followed his friend below. "We'll wake you in a few hours."

"Aren't you tired, Amy?" Demon asked, jumping onto the rail to meet her gaze. "I imagine you must be exhausted."

She shook her head. "I'm still running on adrenaline. It should wear off in a few hours, and I think I can squeeze a couple more hours after that. But not in this dress. I'll be back." She climbed down the hatch to find herself in a small but cozy galley. It had a small pantry with a folding door in one corner, and a stove, icebox, and cupboards in the other. The table was about eight feet long with six chairs around it. One end was against the trunk of the mast at the far wall, which had a narrow door on either side that led forward to a small cargo area, and the other end was against the very ladder she had climbed down. Satisfied—no, _delighted_ with the cozy kitchens, she poofed herself into her old clothes, the dress appearing in a neat folded square before her. She left it on the table to put away later and returned topside.

She and Harkness exchanged glances, but though she had a dozen or so questions burning in her mind, she only took up her position by the mast, looking glass and compass at the ready. They spent an hour or so in silence before she suddenly realized it was dark and, with a squeezing motion, summoned a couple of lanterns into place. "So...witch or Carrionite?" Harkness hazarded to ask.

"Not Carrionite. But I'm a human; as human as you or Teddy. I don't use words that often; just when I'm doing something I'm not sure how to do."

"Is travel between different universes one of those? I mean, how else did you get here?"

"I travel back and forth as needed or convenient."

"Isn't that bad? It breaks holes through the walls between the universes."

"Not my way. It draws the two a little closer, but it doesn't weaken the barriers."

"Huh. That's intriguing. You're _sure_ it isn't dangerous."

"Well with the next _Pirates_ movie coming out in my Realm, our two worlds will come very close to one another. With me here, they're already a little closer than they normally would be, so when it comes out, I'll have to go back home. Other than that, it's pretty safe." Except when war was broiling...

"And what kind of world do you come from?" The night passed agreeably as they both described their home towns, the cities they knew, places they'd traveled to, the state of the environment, how much the dollar was worth, movies they likes (apparently PotC was a movie in the Whoniverse as well), and etc.

"You're nodding off," he observed around two in the morning. "You should get some sleep."

"I'll wake Groves up when it's time," Demon offered.

"What about you? Aren't you tired?" she asked Jack.

"I don't sleep." Too tired to ask any more questions, she nodded and shuffled down the hatch. She opened the door to the cabin and paused to take it in: along the port wall, two bunks, one atop the other. Theodore was up top, and James had taken the bottom. On the starboard wall was a larger single bunk, which she realized must be the captain's bed. Had they saved it for her? How thoughtful. She sank into the furs that covered the mattress, curled up on her side, and was asleep almost instantly.

———————————————————————————————————————

She was awakened by the gentle sunlight streaming in through the narrow highset stern windows, and roused herself to find the cabin empty save for Demon, curled up at the foot of her bunk. Now that there was light enough to see what was inside the cabin, she saw that she had been sleeping on animal furs—fox and deer and wolf and mink, among others. The fox was very soft to the touch—she reminded herself that it was softer still when the animal was alive. She expected her heart to twist with pity for the poor animals that had been killed to keep the 'captain' warm, but could not find it in herself to feel sad. She knew immediately that it was going to be one of those great days where nothing much happens but nothing brings you down because you're just happy to be alive. She scratched Demon behind the ears and went topside.

"Good morning!" she bid the small crew. James, basking in the sun as he leaned against the rail at the tiller, nodded to her. Jack looked up from the knot Theodore was trying to teach him to grin at her in greeting. "Sails are billowing, spirits are high..."

Now that there was light to see it by, she had the chance to see what their little ship was all about. The mast was set about a third of the way back from the prow. There was a short bowsprit off the prow, from which the jib was flying. All four sails were set now; the main, stay, jib, and the triangular topsail in the crosstrees. The little cutter was clipping along at a chipper pace. "I've decided on a name."

"For what?"

"You're not feminizing this one too, are you?" Theodore asked with a nod at Harkness.

"For our boat. And I think it suits her quite well, although I'm not sure why."

"So what is it then?" the two demanded.

"_Ivalice_." They looked at one another, shrugged, and went back to work. She continued her explorations of the little boat aft. Hanging off the stern by two great hooks was a ten-foot catboat, mast folded down over top of it. Its presence confused her; she and the others could fit into it if they squeezed, but what about when there were a dozen or more sailors and marines aboard? How was the cramped catboat supposed to serve as a lifeboat for so many more men? "This can't be a lifeboat, can it?" she asked, coming forward again.

"No," Theodore answered. "Remember, these cutters are also the _Oblivion_'s lifeboats. Of the two, the port cutter was equipped for war with six swivel guns—you'll notice this one only has two—while the _Ivalice_, as you called it, was equipped for the case of an emergency. The purpose of the catboat is for fishing; so that should we be stranded in it, we will not be at a loss for food."

"Huh. Coo—." The _Ivalice_ suddenly changed course, and all were thrown to the deck. "Everyone all right?" she asked Jack and Groves, who were picking themselves up. Demon was pressed to the deck with tail puffed out and claws digging into the grain of the wood. She whirled around to face aft. "James, what was that? James!" He had collapsed, his weight moving the tiller, to the deck, clutching his stomach, unable to move as though consumed by a spasm. Everyone rushed to his side. "James, what is it?"

"P-p-p..." he stammered, gasping with watering eyes.

"Come on, stay with me. What's wrong?"

"P-p-p—." He grunted in pain and rolled onto his back.

"P-p-p-what?" cried Theodore, who was not handling this well. "P-p-p-_what_?!"

"Poison," Amy murmured.

"What?"

"He's been poisoned—Mandel poisoned the knife!" There was a short, shocked silence as James writhed on the deck. "What do we do?"

"Undress the wound and clear out the poison," said Theodore.

"It's already spread into his blood," Jack cut in. "If we try to remove what isn't there, we'll only upset the injury."

"Then what do we _do_?"

"Give him plenty of water and pray it flushes out of his system."

"Is that all you've got? You're from the 51st century; don't you have some way of countering poison?"

"We're in the middle of the ocean, in case you haven't noticed. There aren't any useable resources. Besides, I'm no doctor."

James gasped in pain and rolled back onto his side. Truly frightened, Amy replied, "The that's what we need." Gathering all her strength, she took a deep breath, and was engulfed in a gold-white light. _I need your help_, she thought, and her thoughts echoed aloud. The light left her and shot into the sky. She collapsed, to be caught by Jack, exhausted.

"Good God, she really is a witch!" Theodore cried.

"Thanks," she panted bitingly, "I hadn't noticed." She stumbled back to James' side, where he lay panting for breath, already seeming weaker than he had been. "Help is coming," she whispered. "I hope. All right, let's get him out of the sun. Take him down to the cabin—and then _you_, Mr Harkness, will tell me everything you know about poison." James, hating the fuss, attempted to get up on his own; and though he succeeded, he had to lean heavily on Jack and Groves for support. It was several minutes before he was settling down on the more spacious captain's bunk in the dim of the cabin. "Help me out here, Torchwood; you know more about this kind of stuff than I do. Some help is better than no help."

"Yeh. All right." He dragged the room's only chair over, and sat himself in front of his patient. "How ya feeling, James? Symptoms? Pain?"

"The pain is going away, actually," he answered wearily. "And so is my strength. I feel weak; as though something is sapping my energy."

"Upset stomach? Headache? Muscle spasms?"

"No, no, and no."

"Anything else that seems strange? Anything at all?"

"I feel rather chilled, yet I am sweating at the same time. How about that?"

"Yup, that definitely counts."

"Tell me what you need," Amy ordered.

"Stethoscope, a syringe, a microscope...flashlight thingy." She snapped her fingers and all were present. "Whoa. That's kinda cool."

"And convenient."

So Jack listened to his heartbeat, breathing, and stomach, checked his eyes and throat, and examined the wound with a critical eye. "All right, I'm gonna need a blood sample."

"This is taking a lot of time..."

"It's a slow-acting poison, that much I know. We have time to be thorough." He explained what 'taking a blood sample' meant to James. "Is it clean?" he turned to Amy, who nodded. "Great. Here we go." James watched the needle apprehensively as it was poked into the crook of his elbow, but watched in fascination as the syringe filled with blood.

"Not too much—the surgeon tried to bleed him to death, so he's already running low." Although James had been able to stop him before it reached a dangerous level.

"This is all I'm taking," he replied, flicking the syringe a couple times. "Just let me look at this real quick, and then we'll have it taken care of. Keep him drinking, keep him awake."

"There's more light in the galley, if you need it."

"Good idea." And, with microscope and syringe, he went into the light. It seemed ages before he came back, and judging from the look on his face, the news wasn't good. "I have no idea what it is," he confessed with a sigh.

"Well do you know what it's doing to him? How's it work?"

"It's literally absorbing the energy out of his body. He'll just get weaker and weaker, until he can't move, can't even open his eyes. Either he'll get too weak to breathe (or his heart will stop), or he'll starve first."

"Isn't there any cure? Can't we do something?"

"I don't know what to try. Caffeine might counteract it—stimulants in general would help—but then again, it may just speed up the process."

"But we've got to try something!" she was beginning to panic. James merely listened to all this with a bowed head.

"Like I said; maybe we can flush it out of his system. Keep the fluids going and all that. It must've been a pretty small dose; it was a small knife, and the coating could not have been thick.

"But it was in him so long. What if it doesn't work?" she whispered.

His hopeful expression faded and he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Come here," James ordered. She shook her head, trying to be brave and hold back the tears. "Come here," more firmly. She obeyed and sat by him, and he wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed into his shoulder, rocking gently back and forth and staring distantly into space.

"Come on," Jack said to Groves and Demon. "Let's give them some space." He led the way out of the cabin, and the two were left to themselves.

It was a long tim before she had regained the power of speech. "I can't, James—I can't lose you. Not yet."

"There's still hope, pet," he tried to sound strong—but the idea that he might never see her again made his voice crack. "If we try what Mr Harkness said—it could work. And what about the help you sent for? If it comes, then—."

"But a doctor can't help us. Not with an unknown poison. Jack may as well be a doctor himself with all the stuff he knows. And he knows a lot. He's a couple hundred years old." Startled, James turned to look at her. She smiled in spite of herself at the expression on his face, although her cheer immediately faded.

"Well, who knows? A doctor might know how to contend with an unknown poison. But right now, I do believe I'll need some water." Wondering how he could possibly be positive in so bleak a situation—and ruing the happy music that had begun to play in her head—she waved her hand and an ornate glass bottle appeared.

"It'll refill itself every time you empty it." He was emptying it as she spoke, and, with a suppressed burp, watched it fill back up.

"It tastes strange. Where is this from?"

"The Healing Springs of my world—not _my_ world; the one I made up a while ago." The same one she had always thought about during her first visit.

"Your world probably has its own Realm—have you considered that?"

"You know, I haven't. It would be kind of cool to check it out. What better way to discover more about your own fantasy world than to go there?"

"We should go together some time."

"Yeah and soon, too." It was agreed.

But it would happen much sooner than either of them thought.

When he had been through the bottle three times, he got to his feet, swaying just a little, and headed toward the bow—and the head. In the mean time, Amy headed topside in much higher spirits (although, just like so long ago, doubt nagged at her consciousness). "I'll never be able to sleep now."

"Welcome to my world," replied Jack. "Listen, I'm sorry I couldn't help out more—you'd think that the 51st century would have a few anti-poison tricks. People usually think that a person is wiser after a few centuries—I guess my brain aged as much as the rest of me."

"Now now; we never would have known what it was doing to him if it weren't for you; nor would we have known that it's an unknown recipe. James doesn't seem to be worried, so I've resolved to try not to worry, either."

"How is he?" Theodore asked calmly; being in the profession he was, he had steeled himself against his friend's death long ago.

"About the same. He's already drank about two liters."

"Of what; water?"

"Pure and self-renewing."

"You can make water for him, but you can't make him better?" Groves was still getting used to the idea that Mandel had actually been right.

"I don't know how. I'm still pretty new at this. I'm saving the possibility as a last resort—I'm afraid of what could happen if I do something wrong. Mistakes like that can't be unmade. But like I said; we're staying hopeful."

It was not long before James was topside again, navigating at the tiller once more. It was hard to tell that anything was wrong, and the day went on as it had before, in spite of the shadow lingering in the background.

But by the next morning, the difference was visible. Heels dragged and feet were tripped over, albeit not very often, and more breaks than usual were taken throughout the day. He seemed to be getting tired more easily, although he proved as sharp as ever in conversation. The day after that, he was stumbling much more, and Theodore had to restrict his duties. "Can't you ever just enjoy the ride?" he had asked when James insisted on continuing to man the tiller.

"It won't be long now before he can't get out of bed," Jack told them.

Amy looked up, alarmed. "Isn't he getting _any_ better?"

"I dunno. The water treatment seems to have slowed down the process a bit, but we can all see that it's still happening. His system might have flushed most of it out, but whatever is left his body has to fight."

"Could he win?"

"He could. Will he? I dunno." Amy heaved a heavy sigh.

Demon came trotting over. "Mr Norrington requests your presence in the galley," he announced formally, with his lilting Scottish accent. "He wants a word—says it's important."

"All right. Thank you." She hopped down the hatch and took up a seat next to a pensive James. "What is it?"

"We need to have a talk, you and I."

She didn't like his brooding look. "What about?"

"About what happens next."

She didn't want to hear this. "James—"

"No," he silenced her. "If this mixture takes me—which it could very well do—you'll have to keep going without me. Find Jack first and prevent the Realms from colliding. If you succeed, you'll have plenty of time to grieve after."

"I can't go without you."

"I don't want this any more than you do. But this is not about me. This is about saving the lives of countless people—and finding your friend."

She hadn't really been thinking about Jack lately. She'd been thinking about saving him, sure, but not about _him_. Those memories seemed so long ago now. It was like he had sunken back into fiction. Suddenly, she felt very torn. Stay with a dying James or save Jack? How could she chose? "But I can't leave you," she tried not to cry.

He took her into his arms—she was scared to feel how weak his embrace was. "Such a strong girl, and yet you fear something as mundane as death."

"I can't lose you. I love you."

"And I you. You have been an amazing friend to me, and a mother, for all your youth. You are more than anything I could ask for, and if we were not related, I know there would be something else there, too. You mean the world to me. You mean the Realms to me. No. You mean more to me than all of creation, and I don't want to leave you. But I haven't got any choice now; this is a battle I am losing, and we cannot change that." She had never seen James cry before, as he did now.

"But it's not fair!"

"Is it ever? That is why you must find Jack. You cannot let Fate have her cruel way with him, too."

"But what if you're gone before I can find him?"

"Then go now. Be swift and come back before that happens."

"I-I—." She broke off, sobbing, and he held her tighter as they wept together.

———————————————————————————————————————

The next day he could not get out of bed without assistance, and could not go topside at all. "Please. Let me have one last look at the world." She levitated him through the hatch, and he spent the day sitting on the deck against the rail, staring in thoughtful reminiscence out over the sea. He was going through his fondest memories and his greatest adventures and misadventures. These memories would have been wasted if he did not look back on them while he still could.

The day after, he could barely sit up without help, and even his speech was suffering as he stumbled over words. "Tell me about what your life was like before you first came here," he requested. "I never hear about it." She acquiesced, and told him all about her mundane and insignificant childhood adventures. She told him about how she's broken her arm roller skating, and how she'd gotten a concussion from being bucked off a horse. She told him about marching band and about how, even though it was only her rookie year, she wanted to become drum major. She told him about her family vacations—Niagara Falls, Jockey's Ridge in the Outer Banks of North Carolina, the Poconos—and about the trip to Ireland she would be taking in the next summer, to ride horses across the Connemara.

Three days later, he could not sit up, and he could barely move or speak—the latter of which he chose to refrain from attempting, for dignity's sake. Amy, who had been spending all this time preparing to go after Jack, finally admitted to herself that she would not be leaving any time soon. She had made a vow to herself long ago that she would be with him when he died. She had expected it to be from a gunshot wound or a cannon, knowing the dangers of his profession, but here it was, and she would stick to that promise.

James, weakly, slowly, lifted a finger to motion at his head. Cautiously, afraid that the drain from thought would weaken him further, she entered his mind. _"I have a request_." He sounded so distant—although his voice sounded strong. _"Let me suffocate, let my heart stop—but please, please, do not let me starve. Starving is a rather unpleasant business, and because I have the rare chance to choose, I would like to rule out the worst."_

"Sure, James," she said aloud. "Sure. Anything you want." And she leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.

The days passed much more slowly after then. Two days and the best he could do was stare. Three, and he could not even open his eyes. She cried a lot in those days, usually alone because she didn't want him to hear her weakness. She also prayed much more than she usually did. But what she found herself doing most of all was thinking like a philosopher. She contemplated complicated subjects of everyday life with even more complicated meanings. She made observations about people and the worlds she knew that Socrates would have been proud of. A lot of growing up was had, and it humbled her. She used her magic less and used manual labour more. She had to be _doing_ something—anything to get her mind off James, however much she wanted to wallow in her grief.

At last, a week and a half after they had left the _Oblivion_, it finally ended. The sky was overcast, and the clouds glowed a sickly yellow. It was chilly and raining lightly; perfectly depressing for that time. Amy was alone topside, staring at the sky in deep thought. Then it caught her eye—a tiny speck of light breaking through the clouds, coming closer, getting bigger. She almost laughed for joy. "Come quick!" she cried. Jack, Theodore, and Demon hurried on deck. "Look," she pointed at the light. It was the same light she had sent toward the heavens at the start of their voyage. She was smiling ear to ear. Help had come at last!

The ball of gold-white fire plummeted, gathering momentum, heading straight for them. "It'll sink us!" Groves cried, and everyone dove out of the way to prepare for impact. However, the light paused a few feet above them to settle slowly, gently on the deck.

The glow faded to reveal a man, who looked out at the sea and furrowed his brow. "Wot?"

"Oh great."

"No way!" Jack cried.

"Wot!"

"No no no, why is this happening?" Amy whispered in horror.

"_Wot?!_"

"I wanted **a** doctor, not **the** Doctor!"

* * *

Hmm, I dunno, is that a cliffie like all my other chapters? I guess it keeps you wondering. Like how I keep wondering why no one else is wondering... maybe I should write in less cliffies...

...Nahh...

Please, _please_ leave a review. I even edited for mistakes this time!


	36. The Muffins

Hey all. I know this story just seems to be dragging on and on, and I know a reason not as many people are reading is because the chapters are too long and time-consuming... but I just want to let you know that the end is in sight. My goal for this story—and by goal I mean limit—is forty-three chapters. I decided that once it got past twenty, I think, and that is why I cram so much more into each chapter than perhaps there should be.

Well, I suppose four reviews is better than three, aye?

Thanks to: **ArmoredSoul **and **RespectTheSporks**

**Captain Rika Kisuktai**: Well, not exactly. But we'll get into that later.

**Little Miss Sparrow:** And did you enjoy that first episode? Unfortunately, the first episodes (of the more recent series) are of the incarnation previous to the one showing up in this story, so you'll have to watch through to the second season if you want to meet our favourite alien. I'm glad you were inspired to watch it, and I wonder how you enjoy it?

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: No one reads it, so I can't be costing you money. Don't sue!!**

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Muffins are Always the Answer**

She choked back a sob, hopes dashed. "I'm so sorry, James," she whispered. "I got the wrong doctor."

"The wrong doctor, but maybe not the wrong person," said the Doctor. "I take it I'm here because you need my help. Right, who is it then?"

"He's this way." Buoyed a little by his energy and eagerness to help, she led him below to the cabin.

"What year is it?" he wondered as he climbed down the ladder.

She shrugged. "Mm-mm."

"You don't live here, I take it?"

"I'm visiting. The best I know is late 1700s. I was never curious enough to find out for sure, but I want to say 60s or 70s."

"That's what I was thinking. It smells like it." They entered the cabin. "That him?" he nodded to the lifeless form.

"Aye. Groves, this is the Doctor."

"Wonderful! A doctor is just what we need," cried Theodore, who as yet did not understand this new twist on their situation.

"How are you with poison?"

"Well—I may know a thing or two," he replied with an easy modesty. "What's 'is name?"

"James."

"'Ello, James, I'm the Doctor. I'm here to help," he said as he sat down beside his 'patient' to begin an examination.

"Here. These might help." He was handed the stethoscope and other instruments. He looked up to see it was Jack, and his surprise was evident.

"'Ow long 'ave you been 'ere?"

Harkness smiled. "The whole time."

"She got you too, eh?"

"Something like that."

So the Doctor listened to his heart and breathing and everything else. "Slow and shallow. Never a good sign."

"It saps his strength. Either he'll stop breathing or his heart will stop," Jack explained with regard to the poison. "If I knew what the compound was, I'd be able to fight it, but even with the blood sample, I can't tell what it is without the lab back at the Hub."

"You have a blood sample, then? Great, let me have a look."

"Microscope's in the galley." The Doctor left, followed by Jack, Groves, and Demon.

Alone with her nephew, Amy gently laid her cheek on his chest. Just as the Doctor had said, his heart beat was weak and slow, his breathing shallow. He might survive the night if Fate would allow it, but even that was unlikely.

A few minutes later, she joined them in the galley, where the Doctor was sitting at the table examining the blood through the microscope. Theodore had returned topside to man the tiller, and she knew he would call if he needed anyone in the sails. Jack was busy preparing lunch; chicken from the smell of it. And Demon, who had been sitting on the table, hopped down and trotted into the cabin to resume his careful watch over James.

"How's it coming?" she asked.

"Well—I can't be sure, acsh'ly. I can see the poison, but it's in clumps. I can't tell if they're individual particles or groups of particles. Give me a little time. I should have it by the time we 'ave dinner."

She looked at Jack in apprehension. "Dinner's in the middle of the day, right?"

"Yeah. Supper's the one in the evening."

Phew. She'd find out soon, then. Still, she steeled herself against rising hopes—she _could not_ let herself be hopeful now; if the Doctor failed, which he could well do, then she would have to accept the fact all over again. She focused instead on the enticing aroma of the chicken, and fell to daydreaming about her own little world. As she was reaching out to touch a foxalope, Jack served their lunch, and the Doctor made an exclamation. "What is it?"

"I can't be certain yet, but I think I know. I just need to increase the magnification by five thousand percent," here he fiddled with his sonic screwdriver, with its blue light and weird noises—the lass stared at it in an almost hungry wonder, being as big a fan as she really was—and looked again. "It's made up of complex compounds that inhibit strength, but not energy, so even if you gave him caffeine, nothing would happen. You'll need something to give him strength and–yes!"

"What?" He had startled Amy.

"This chicken is really good!"

"Great. Can we focus, please?" When one is divulging life-saving information, it is best not to get distracted.

"Well it is." He looked back into the scope. "Ahh, this is Pirodet—I learned about it in the year four million sixty-eight-point-four gamma-B, on a space station orbiting Barcelona. Ahh, good times, that."

"It has a name?"

"It was mass produced."

"What for?!"

"What? It was used as rat poison."

"Something that deadly for rats?"

"They were giant radioactive mutant rats."

She almost laughed, but caught herself. This was no time for— "So you know how to fight it, then?" She could not be hopeful. She could not be hopeful.

"Sure!" Yes! "But it might not work, considering the length of time it's been in him."

"Doesn't matter. There's still a chance." She was hopeful in spite of herself. "What's the cure? What do we have to do?"

"There is a mixture of ingredients that should counteract the poison: cinnamon, nutmeg, raising, walnuts, and sweet potatoes—not yams, sweet potatoes."

"Can I put those ingredients in muffin form?"

"Brilliant. I love sweet potato muffins."

His smile was contagious, and the three of them set to whipping up a batch of the delicious baked goods. "All right. First off, this stove isn't going to cut it. We're gonna need an oven," said Jack, who had spent the last few months serving as a personal cook. "Amy, if you please."

"Surely." She laid the flat of her hand against the side of the stove, and before their eyes it melted into an oven.

"Molecular reconstruction," observed the Doctor. "Nice trick. How'd you do it?"

She grinned. "Magic." He frowned. "You can science it up all you want, but I'm still gonna call it magic."

"Hmm."

"Now, what were those ingredients again?"

"Right. Cinnamon, nutmeg, raisins, walnuts, and sweet potatoes."

"Right. Not yams."

"If we're making muffins, we'll need eggs, milk, flour, sugar, and baking soda, at least," said Harkness.

"Let's make things easier; why don't I just take a gander at the recipe?" she pulled a white card out of the air. "Let's see here. 'If the subject fails to respond, use force to liberate his true disposition.' Nope, that doesn't help _at all_." She flipped the card over. "Here we are." And, diligently reading the recipe to herself, she snapped her fingers, and the ingredients were present

"What are you using—is it a materialization beam? Some sort of molecular rearranging gun? Pockets that are bugger on the inside?"

She shrugged. "Just me." And so, they set to work measuring and mixing the ingredients.

"So," began the Doctor as they were squelching the batter with their hands, "why can't you just 'magic' up the muffins too? It would go much faster."

"'Cause I've got this creeping suspicion that they won't work if they're made with magic, and those feelings are usually right."

"Well. Can't argue with instinct. Are those potatoes cooked yet?"

Amy sighed, not really knowing what she was feeling. Here was one of the most powerful beings in a Realm—possibly even a Guardian, as he wasn't human—baking. Muffins. Muffins that would counteract a poison developed millions of years into the future and save the man who was slowly dying in the next room. _Oh God. What's happening here?_

"Not yet," Jack replied. "It takes a while to soften them up enough."

"Should've gotten them canned," he muttered. "So! I can't help but notice my TARDIS didn't come with me. How'd you get me here?"

"I'm not really sure, actually. I sent up a beacon for a doctor and got you."

"Yes, but how do I get back? I can't travel myself without my TARDIS. And I'd get bored if I tried waiting until the time I was in."

"You can wait all you like, but even with your space ship you couldn't get back."

"What do you mean?" came the suspicion.

"We're in another universe," Jack supplied.

The Doctor quit his mixing with alarm and rounded on Harkness. "And jus' how did that happen? How could you do this? You know what it does to the universes." He paused. "And how did _you_ get here anyway? Where is it? Give it here." Grudgingly, yet not without remorse, Jack went to his coat on the table and took the time-hopper out of the pocket. The Doctor snatched it from him with a glare. "I told you not to use this—I specifically told you not to use this. I broke it for a reason."

"You never said this would happen. And besides, how else was I supposed to find out if it worked?"

"You never needed it to work. You never needed to leave Cardiff. And now you've dragged me here, too. Two ugly holes ripped in the boundaries between our universes. Oh you just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

"Stop it!" Amy cried. "This isn't going to solve anything."

"Yes, but now there are two holes in the universe, which will become four for the return trip, however we're getting back. You knew better, Jack. You knew better, and you still did it."

"Well how was I supposta know it would take me to an alternate universe?"

"Lack of knowledge is _usually_ a good reason not to try it in the first place."

"Enough! None of this matters right now. You can settle your differences later, but right now, there's a man in there dying," she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "And he didn't bring you here, anyway. I did."

"That doesn't change the holes in our universes."

"Yes it does. Because my way of travel is harmless."

"What do you mean?" he frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "Just who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow—er... I'm a traveler. We are. We travel across the Realms."

"And it doesn't weaken the borders? I don't believe that."

"Well tough. I can feel it as we cross over; nothing happens to it."

"You can feel it?" He suddenly wasn't so sure of his argument. "How can you travel like that anyway?"

"Magic," she grinned. "And on that bombshell, let's move on." And they returned to their baking where the potatoes had softened and could be added to the mix once they had been mashed. At last, they spooned the batter into the baking sheet and put it into the oven.

"Twen'y minuted in there an' they should be ready to go."

"Great," she sighed with relief.

"So you can get us back when we're done?"

"I dunno. I'm not really sure how I got you here in the first place, to be honest. But don't worry. James says I have a knack for figuring things out. Sometimes." She fell silent, and the delicious aroma began to permeate the air. They all breathed deep, and she fell to thinking—or rather, feeling. The Doctor had said it might not work; but she wasn't getting any bad vibes. So it would _have_ to work. James would have to be all right after all. _Don't hope. Don't you dare hope,_ she scolded herself. _Your intuition has been wrong before, and it could well do now. The muffins might not work, and then it will just be harder because we had such a chance. Don't jinx anything. Don't hope. Don't do a thing. Don't even—_.

_Ping!_

The muffins were done. Theodore, drawn by the smell, had joined them.

_Please God let this work_, she prayed as she carried the plate of warm muffins into the cabin. Only one lantern was lit, and its flame flickered as if blown by an invisible wind.

"All right, James," said the Doctor, taking up a seat by the bed, "Let's see if this works."

Amy took a bite out of a muffin, and chewed it to mush. Lifting his head, she pressed their lips together and pushed the food into his mouth—the same way mothers had always fed their children long, long ago. She had been feeding him like this the last couple days—at first he had been startled, but had quickly realised she was only keeping her promise. But now, he could barely swallow the food, even in mush form. "How many should I give him?"

The Doctor took a moment to calculate the ratios in his head. "About six."

"And how long until we find out if it works?" asked Groves.

"Once he starts digesting them, it should start having an immediate effect. 'Alf an hour or so."

She looked at Demon, who was lying at the man's side. "Has he got that long?"

"He had plenty of time."

Nodding, she went pack to the process of feeding him. It went slowly: she had to take very small bites so that it would be easier for him to swallow. The first muffin alone took several minutes. Half an hour had passed long before they were finished. "Is anything happening?" she asked the cat.

"Nothing significant."

"It should be having a huge effect by now," the Doctor said ponderously. "I'm so sorry. The poison's been in him too long."

"No. Don't tell me that. There must be something else!"

"I'm not giving up yet. Let me try something." He took a seat on the mattress and placed his hands on either side of James' head so that his index and middle fingers were on his temples. He closed his eyes as he usually did, and opened the door between their minds. "Don't be startled. I'm just taking a look at your insides," he told the invalid.

"You can do that?"

"I can follow the neural receptors in his brain out to the rest of his body. I can hear what he's thinking and feel what he's feeling." Several minutes passed. "I know what to do, but I don't know how," he said as he withdrew.

"What needs to be done?"

"The poison is not mixed in with his blood; it floats on it, like oil on water. If I can diverge the poison to flow out through his pores, he should be fine. But it's not something I know how to do. Amy, I'm not sure what you abilities make you capable of, but I think it's all up to you now."

"I'll try anything."

"I'll be here to guide you every step of the way." Letting out a deep breath, she nodded. "I can travel throughout his body once I make a connection with his mind. If you're there with me, I can tell you what you need to do. Now," he raised his hands to touch her head—but she stopped him, connecting on her own. "Telepathy. What else can you do?"

"We're about to find out." And she connected with James. _"I'm here,"_ she reassured him.

"_I'm glad."_ He did not sound so tired at all, and her fears of draining him further through thought were put to rest.

"_Right, follow me_," said the Doctor, grabbing her imaginary hand and leading her out of his mind; colours blurred as they moved very swiftly, and when they stopped, she found herself looking down a vein or artery as though it were a hallway. There was a great pounding behind her, and she knew they were at his heart. _"All the blood in his body has to come through here. If you can sift the poison out as it goes, you should be able to save him._"

"_I thought we were going to flush it out through his pores."_

"_There's no way of doing that without flushing the blood out also. This is less complicated and less risky."_

"_Right. How long does it take for all the blood to circulate?"_

"_At this rate? About five minutes, I suppose."_

"_Great. And anything we miss will come right back at us. Let's get to work!"_ With careful guidance from the Doctor—who really wasn't an actual doctor—she began to sift the poison out from the blood, forcing it out of existence as she went. In a little more than ninety minutes, they had gotten all of it—the last several minutes had been spent looking for anything they could possibly have missed. _"How are you feeling, James?" _she asked him, feeling much cheered. She heard a breath of thought echo through her mind, but it was like a sigh and she couldn't make it out. _"Huh?"_

"_Fading..."_

Her spirits plummeted, and her mind returned to her body at such a speed that she was literally pushed backwards. "It isn't having any effect!"

"Oy—that's my ear you're yellin' in," the Doctor complained.

"He's weaker now than ever."

"He still has a few hours," Demon assured her. "There is still time to figure this out."

She looked at the cat. "But what? Everything we try just ends up being a waste of time."

"Yes—no..." The Doctor was busy thinking. "Yyyes! Nothing we did had any effect on the poison directly, that much is true—_but_, it had effects in other ways. The sweet potato muffins stopped the symptoms from getting worse; they stopped the body from absorbing any more poison out of the blood. That way, we could get rid of all the poison running through his body so it couldn't be absorbed later when the muffins are fully digested. But what was absorbing the poison? If we can remove it from whatever tissue being targeted, we can save him."

Ahh. That was what she liked about the Doctor—all that babble, and yet not a word wasted. "Great. How do we find out what tissues are effected?"

"Go through his body again. Go through his bones, his muscles, his organs; find it, and then you can sift it out just like you did in his blood."

With much more hope now that she had the Doctor with her, Amy took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let her hands hover over her patient. She would move through him by sense rather than sight.

She started back at his heart—always a good place to start—and her hands moved over him, to the next area, and the next. "It's in his muscles. That's why he can't move," she announced. But James seemed farther away than ever, and the slowness of the process was nearly unbearable. She had been searching for less than two minutes, yet she felt like she had wasted an hour. And as she began to remove the poison from the effected areas, she despaired of ever getting rid of it all in time; she had to sift through each fiber and sinew of each muscle, because the particles hid in between the strands. She despaired more at the knowledge of how much of it there was. How could one little knife give so big a dose of poison?

There was something else she felt, also. She felt his pain—the pain in his back from the flogging, the pain in his arms and ribs from breaking through his chains, even the pain in his side from the knife itself. There was a spasm in his thigh as the muscles she was working with began to wake up, and though she knew it must hurt, her heart skipped with excitement. "It's working!"

"He's getting weaker," Demon warned, concern deepening his accent. "He hasn't got much longer."

"Come on, James." She refused to give up now, when she was so close. She would not let Fate win. _He won't live_, announced that doubtful voice in the back of her mind. She told it to shut its pie-hole. _Come on, self,_ she thought. _Just like in the movies. Make him better._ She kept working, kept thinking, trying to find a faster way without neglecting the original process.

"Amy..." Demon persisted.

"I know, I know." She sat back for a moment, staring solemnly at the weak rise and fall of her nephew's chest, each breath giving a smaller movement than the last. _"This is the only other thing I can think of, but it might make things worse_," she thought to him, and she was surprised at the clarity of his mind.

"_If it kills me, it won't matter because I would be dead anyway. There is no risk if the consequences are the same whether you do it or not. There is nothing to lose."_

"_Except you."_ But he had given her the okay to go ahead. She placed her hands on his chest, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Concentrating hard, she focused all her energy, and sent it through his body. He jolted as though he had been shocked, then lay still. The tiny flame of the candle went out, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Theodore scrambled to open the curtains and let in the sun.

"Not breathing!" Demon cried.

"Come on, James," she murmured, too exhausted to do any CPR. Several jumbled moments passed where the three other men in the room scrambled toward the bed. She felt someone grab her by the shoulders and move her out of the way; they must've been yelling, but she couldn't hear them. Her eyes plastered on James, the only thing she could hear was the silence of his breath.

But before Jack or the Doctor would try to save him, his mouth opened slightly, and a yellow-gold sort of smoke floated out. Weakly, the lass raised her hand and waved the cloud gone. A beat of silence, and then the man gasped for breath. "It's working," the feline announces, able to sense the man's state of being. "He's getting stronger."

Somehow finding the energy, the lass rushed back to his side. "James!" He squinted his eyes open to look at her. It had been too long since she had seen those eyes. Immediately she broke down, wrapped her arms around him, covering his face with tears and kissed. She only cried harder when he hugged her back, sitting up.

"I'm here," he assured her softly. "I'm here."

'What did you do?" asked Jack. "What was that gas?"

"That," replied the Doctor, "was the poison in vapour form. You hyper-circulated the poison until it was all in his lungs, then you turned it into gas. Liquid expands when it turns into gas, so it must've cut off his breathing. But then the gas traveled out on its own because of its momentum from the hypercirculation, and it saved him. Oh, brilliant!"

She managed a weak smile. "Hey, are you all right?" Harkness inquired after her obvious exhaustion.

"She's used up all her energy trying to get rid of the poison," James answered, voice gruff from lack of use. "It will take her some time to recover."

They hadn't caught their breaths yet when the girl suddenly asked, "What you all standin' there for? We've got Realms to save!"

"I'll reset the course and we'll make way immediately," Theodore assured them. "Men, topside. Get ready to sail."

"Aye-aye, captain!" cried an enthusiastic Doctor, who really seemed to be enjoying himself. "I've always wanted to say that. Allons-y!" They swept out of the cabin.

"You two should rest," Demon told them. "You've had the worst of it these past few days, and today especially. Just take it easy and—."

"Oy, Demon," he was interrupted as the Doctor poked back in, "what part of 'Allons-y' don't you understand? There's no way groves can handle us two all on his own, come on." Happy to have been invited, the feline trotted after him with tail held high.

"I've been sleeping far too much of late. I am wide awake now. Why don't you get some rest? I'll be right here."

"There's no way I'll be able to sleep after all this."

"There is no way you've slept at all in the past several days. Rest."

In spite of her adrenaline, in spite of her spinning emotions and racing thoughts; in spite of everything that had happened, she was asleep in James's arms before her head hit the pillow, and she slept like the dead that the dear man had nearly joined.

———————————————————————————————————————

four hours later, the two emerged on deck. It was still overcast, but the rain had stopped and some of the chill had gone out of the air. The lass still looked tired, although she carried herself with the same dignity as ever, while the man who had been on death's doorstep mere hours ago moved a little gingerly, unused to moving at all. "No work for you, James, not for a while," Theodore ordered when he sawr him. Norrington merely shrugged, surprising those who knew his work ethic, and was content to stand at the rail and enjoy being alive.

As she leaned beside him against the bulwarks, Amy looked up to see the Doctor and Harkness conversing with one another at the tiller, where the latter was teaching the former how to steer. Feeling obliged, she hauled herself to her feet and dragged herself over. "Doctor."

"'Ello, Amy," came the cheerful greeting and abnormally large smile.

"I wanted to thank you."

"Aw," he waved it away, "it was you who did it."

"No, really. If it weren't for you, I might never have tried. This whole time I've been afraid of hurting him worse if I tried to heal him. So thanks." She extended her hand; but when he grabbed it, he pulled her into a big bear hug. _I knew it_, she thought to herself, _Ten gives really good hugs_. "Now," she said muffledly, struggling out of his grasp, "about sending you back; I've been thinking, and I know how I can get you both back to your own universe."

"Fantastic. How soon?"

"Give me until the morning to regain some of my strength."

"You're sure you'll be well enough by then? I don't want you to strain yourself."

"Yeah, there's no hurry," agreed Harkness. "I wasn't busy with anything."

"I was," said the Doctor. "But it wasn't important. Just a little issue with the Judoon and the shadow Proclamation."

"'Judoon platoon on the moon,'" she quoted.

"Oh I remember that! Back when I first met Marths—that was years ago. Good memory. Can you remember other things I've said? Clever things?"

"Don't encourage her," James warned. "She's been known to fabricate entire conversations out of quotations. She spends whole days trying to be witty by applying as many quotations as she can."

"It's true. During free band periods, Rosie and I recite 'Pirates of the Caribbean' from memory, among other things."

"I hope she doesn't do that with 'Doctor Who' or 'Torchwood,'" replied Harkness. When the Doctor looked at him askance, he went one; "Just imagine talking to someone who could reply in nothing but things you had said before."

"I'd probably think she was an alien," he grinned. "Out to steal my voice."

"It _is_ a little creepy."

"'You've no idea,'" sighed James, and everyone looked at him in surprise.

* * *

Huh. That's the first non-cliffie in a while. Appreciate it! Chapter 37 has a good start to it, and with any luck, I may have it up by the full moon in a week and a half, along with a Fears update. But that's just me crossing my fingers. I hope I caught the Doctor's character. Let me know how I did...

You know what would really help me pump out updates more quickly? Reviews. I like reviews.


	37. The Land Inside Her Head

HAPPY NEW YEAR! And Chrismahannukwaanzika and all that. Just a little last-minute-of-the-year update for you all. I tried so hard to finish the next chapter of Fears in time, too, but you can't rush creativity—that update will have to wait for the next full moon. But for now, enjoy this little goodie. It's the first chapter written out of my brand new suede-covered journal.

**Captain Rika Kisuktai:** That is exactly the right question to ask. And I'm sorry, but if I answered it, I'd be giving away spoilers to the threequel. Huh? Threequel? What threequel? I didn't say anything about a threequel... :o

**Disclaimer:** The only copyright infringement you'll find is the musical soundtrack.

**Chapter Thirty-Seven:** **The Land Inside Her Head**

The next morning the lass was bouncing around on deck, as hyper as if she had had cheese and chocolate, obviously much rested. She was not fully up to par just yet as far as magic went, and it would take a few days for her to fully recover, but there was such a change in her energy that James, equally refreshed, was inclined to ask, "What on Earth have you been eating?"

"I'm fine, thanks for asking. The Doctor made my honeyed milk. He said it would help me feel better."

"Well it worked," he observed with a hint of disapproval. "What else has he given you?"

"Besides you?" A beat of meaningful silence. "Just the honeyed milk. Oi, you know what I've just realised? I haven't been random in _ages_." And she immediately dove into the Pirate Rap, causing James to roll his eyes and facepalm. "'Yo-yo-yo-ho-o, yo-yo-yo-ho. Yo-yo-yo-ho-o, yo-yo-yo-ho!

"'I'm a pirate, a pirate I be/ and just like Johnny Depp it is a pirate's life for me./ We sail across the ocean and we take the seven seas/ and we battle false authority and bring it to its knees. Yo-yo-yo-ho-o, yo-yo-yo-ho—arr—Yo-yo-yo-ho-o, yo-yo-yo-ho!

"'He's Chumbucket an' I'm Cap'n Slappy./ We gots ta keep it funky it we wants ta make ye happy./ We get yer toe tappin', tip-tip-tappy-tappy./ Be sure to use some lip balm or yer lips'll get all chappy. Yo-yo-yo-ho-o, yo-yo-yo-ho—They get chappy now!—Yo-yo-yo-ho-o, yo-yo-yo-ho!

"'We kick it with our crew, yeah we kick it at our leisure./ We're lookin' for adventure, but we really want some treasure./ And when we're swash-a-bucklin', yeah we're doin' it for pleasure./ We talk like William Shakespeare in 'is plays measure for measure. Yo-yo-yo-ho-o, yo-yo-yo-ho—With a thee and a thou!—Yo-yo-ho-o, yo-yo-yo-ho!

"'Some people say we're nasty and we're horrible and horrid/ fighting battles on the beaches and we always leave the shore-d/ with the blood of nameless families. Yeah we're taking what they store-d./ If they pummel and resist us, we'll just knock 'em in the forehead. Yo-yo-yo-ho-o, yo-yo-yo-ho—With a blunderbuss!—Yo-yo-yo-ho-o, yo-yo-yo-ho!

"'Fifteen men on a dead man's chest—yo ho ho and a bottle of—Ev'rybody!'" The Doctor and Harkness, who had since appeared topside and had been bobbing their heads, eagerly joined in, causing James to look skyward and ask God, most insincerely, why he was still here. "'Fifteen men on a dead man's chest—yo ho ho and a bottle of rum! Fifteen men on a dead man's chest—yo ho ho and a bottle of rum! Fifteen men on a dead man's chest—yo ho ho and a bottle of _rum._ Arrr...!'"

The Time Lord and his Companion applauded, Demon and James shared amused expressions, and poor Theodore was beginning to look uncertain about just what he had gotten himself into. The lass took her bows, quite delighted at the positive reception to her insanity. "Thank you, thank you. And on that bombshell, let's get my adoring fans back to their own Realm."

"Aw, so soon?" cried the Doctor. "It would be something, wouldn' it?" he said to Jack. "Being pirates an' all, eh? What d'you think?"

"Doctor. We need to get out of here. I've been ready to leave since I got here."

"You're right. We don't belong here. I'll have to settle for playing pirate in my own universe."

Jack put an hand on his shoulder in mock sympathy. "It's for the best."

"Now, just what are you planning on doing? Do you need any help, anything I can do?"

"I need to you think about where you were when I summoned you. Were you in the present?"

"Yes," they both answered.

She raised an eyebrow. "Convenient. I need you to visualize your world; where you were last. Got it?" They nodded. She entered their minds, and Harkness startled at the intrusion. "Don't mind me; I need that mental image for a reason. All right, everybody, join hands—or paws, or whatever. No offense."

"None taken," Demon sighed as Norrington scooped him up and the four humans joined hands.

"Oy. Here we go," she announced. "Three. Two. One. Blastoff." Silvery smoke surrounded them, filled the air, and made it impossible to see anyone or anything beyond a few feet away. The pitch and roll of the _Ivalice_ grew choppier and more violent. "Keep a hold," the lass warned, and her companions looked to see that they could barely see her, only a few feet away. Suddenly, the deck plunged violently forward, and they all were thrown down, landing in a heap. Almost immediately afterward, the current smoothed, and the smoke cleared enough to see their beloved _Ivalice._

"The sails," said Theodore, and everyone looked up to see them slackening, then filling again with a wind that came from a different direction than it had been mere moments before.

As their brave little boat. Sailed on through the fog, the cloud began to thin. First they saw the sun shining through, and then, like a veil, the mists parted and they found themselves afloat on a great river bordering an even greater, grey city. "Sorry for the turbulence– apparently our realms are twenty degrees different from one another. Please put your trays in the upright and locked position, and thank you for choosing 'Air Pirate'."

"I know this place," murmured James. "This is the Thames. We're in London!"

"You recognize it? It looks nothing like it did in your time period," replied a skeptical lass.

"It feels like the same place. And no other city could ever be that shade of grey. It is London."

"You seem rather excited about that shade of grey," commented the Doctor.

"I never thought I would see it again. Then again, I never thought I would see anything again." He steered them for the docks, then looked at the lass. "You brought the whole ship with us?" he asked belatedly.

"I've never been to London, you know. I thought a cruise on the Thames would be nice and relaxing after all the excitement." As they moored their little boat, a nearby fire hydrant exploded.

"Oh but the excitement's only just begun!" cried the Doctor with apparent glee.

"The Shadow Proclamation are on Earth?"

"No, but their lackeys are. They're having quite a large battle with the Judoon right now, acsh'ly; underground in the sewer system. You comin'?"

"Sounds like fun," she agreed. "But maybe some other adventure; I've got a mission of my own."

"Right. Well, come back and visit any time. And here, take this. Consider it a gift for an adoring fan." Playing with his ear, he reached into his pocket and handed her a small silver device.

She stared at it in awe as she took it from him. "But—won't you—won't you need it?" she stuttered.

"Nahh, I've got spares. The TARDIS is on the way there. Besides, you may need to use it. I'd love to chat, but I've got a planet to save. Now Jack—did you learn your lesson?"

"If the Doctor destroys it, let it stay destroyed," Jack grumbled. "Yeah, I get it."

"Molto bene!—Allons-y!" They took off into the city.

"Doctor!" He turned to face her, running backwards. "Thank you!" Even from the distance he had already put on, she could see his foxy grin.

"Amy," murmured James, "You don't suppose that the final one could be here, do you?"

"I don't know. He could just as easily be here as he could in the House realm, or Monk, or Psyche, or Burn Notice; but on most of those, every one and every thing you meet is an anomaly; it would be impossible to tell. We should go back and talk to Tia Dalma. Besides, we need to get you fixed up the rest of the way."

"I am as 'fixed up' as can be. You healed me."

She stopped dead. "What?"

"Well not entirely, but—."

"I healed you?"

"My ribs don't hurt, and the sprain is gone. My arm is not even broken any more. The only thing still hurts is my shoulder, but that is always a bother."

"James, that wasn't me."

"What do you mean?"

"All I did was drive out the poison."

"Yes, but you were so focused on making me better that you healed me also."

Deep down, she knew it wasn't true. Something else had healed him. "Well we still need to talk to Teacher. Besides, we need to introduce Demon."

"Speaking of whom, where is he? And where has Theodore gotten to?"

"Somewhere not here," she answered helpfully. They turned around to see the two standing a short way off, staring at the great city. "Hey guys, can we hurry this up? Got stuff to do."

"A different world," murmured Theodore. "I'm standing on a different world!"

"Cool, innit? But we've gotta split. There's only about a fortnight left to get Jack straightened out, and it we miss our deadline, _we're_ dead."

"Aye, let's go." Demon took one last sniff at the city, then upped and trotted after them."

"Come _on_, Theodore!"

"I can't believe I'm in a different world," a dumbfounded Groves stumbled after them.

"All aboard!" the lass rand the ship's bell. "Let's do this." The sails were loosed, and the _Ivalice_ moved back out into the river. "Here we go..." The fog rolled in again, and the little boat sailed off into another Realm. Once they were back in the Caribbean, Amy took out the sonic screwdriver and examined it. "You know," she said as she sat back to take the tiller, "it's gonna feel a lot emptier without those two around. They could fill a room."

"Oh please," James rolled his eyes. "You only say that because you've idolized the man. What is that thing, anyway?"

"It's a tool. A very handy tool. And I have absolutely no idea how to use it. Isn't that brilliant?"

"Fascinating. Two points to starboard, if you please."

"Aye-aye."

"If my calculations are as accurate as Theodore's charts, we should make the Patano by tomorrow morning."

"Great. I don't want to have to poof us there. I'm all poofed out."

"Which is why you don't transport an entire boat with us."

"Too late, mate. Call it practice for future possibilities."

"Speaking of possibilities, why didn't you transport us there when I was ill? I am sure Teacher could have found a cure, and then we'd be on our way."

"I was afraid to move you. I was afraid that any magic would only make you worse."

He stared at her very gravely for several moments. "You do not trust your own magic, no matter how well you can control it. If you wish to survive this war, you are going to have to start, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," with downcast eyes, and he knew she didn't agree with him.

———————————————————————————————————————

When she emerged on deck the next morning, the great hulking shape of Cuba rose, a green-black shadow on the horizon not far off. Within an hour, they made port in the small town where Jack's crew had based themselves. "Well, Theodore, I guess this is goodbye," said the lass. "Thank you for all the help, mate."

"It's not goodbye just yet—I'm coming with you."

"What."

"It came to me as we were standing in that strange London—this is a chance to see other worlds. I want to see, I want to travel—I want to help you find Sparrow."

"You do realise you have just offered to assist a pirate."

"I don't care."

"Can't beat that logic," shrugged the girl. "Demon, what about you?"

"D'you even have to ask?"

"Right. And then there were four!"

They docked the _Ivalice_ and rented some horses; they would be traveling to Teacher's by land. It felt good to ride a horse again—in Narnia she had been too small—and she was delighted to see how much improved James's riding had gotten. A little before noon, they arrived in the bayou. Leaving their mounts tied to a branch on firmer ground, they waded through the water—Demon perched on James' shoulders—and entered the shack. Amy had not been here since her brief visit to leave Curiosity. James had not been here longer. Theodore and Demon looked around in wonder at the odd things on the shelves and hanging from the ceiling—the latter's tail fluffed out at the sight of an albino anaconda big enough to swallow him whole.

"Tia Dalma?" the lass called. "We're back."

The mystic came out to greet them, with a small smile sent in Norrington's direction. But before she met them, she spotted Demon. "You haf bring a demon wit you," she cried. "Him must be expelled!" She lunged toward the cat, who crouched low against the floor.

Amy stepped between them, and the mystic halted, her eyes flashing with anger. "He's changed."

"A demon cannot change."

"He's a part of the team. He's here to help."

"I'm only a cat, mum. That's all I am. Nothing demon left about me, mum, not but my name."

"Whatever you planned on doing to him, it's not happening."

"Amy," James hissed, miffed at the lack of respect.

However, Tia Dalma's anger dissipated. "So be it. But take cyer o' de allies you choose," she replied, eyes running over Groves. "Come. You must bind Curiosity into de body."

"I can't. Not yet. I've been using a lot of magic lately—more than I should. I'm not at full strength just now, and if I were to bring them together now, it would take days for me to recover before we could go to whatever Realm the final manifestation is in. We need to secure the stability of our Realms before we can think about Jack."

"One is more important than de other. Perhaps you haf learned somet'ing after all."

"Quite possibly. We have about twelve days until the premier. That's not as much time as I would like, but there is still a chance, depending on the world we need to go to."

"Then we need to find that Realm," resolved James.

"To find it, first we mus' determine which emoshun is manifest."

"Which emotion is missing? We have found love and wisdom, pride, humour, self-confidence, fear and trust, and curiosity. What is left?"

"Each man'festashun embodies multiple traits, too. A human is made up o' more dan seven parts, but de Shatterin' limited ta seven man'festashuns. We mus' understand which emoshuns were manifest 'neath those we seen."

"Then it could be anything," the lass sighed. "I need a snack." She went into the back room.

"Now is no time to be thinking about your stomach," James called after her.

But she wasn't eating because she was hungry. He watched in bewilderment as she mashed up several herbs in a small wooden bowl and mixed honey with it. "For clarity of mind and memory." She dipped her fingers in and sucked off the sticky mixture. The herbs brought it a strange, spicy flavour that was not unpleasant. She sat on a table and ate, very slowly. When the bowl was at last empty, she crossed her legs and took up the lotus position.

"You meditate?" he asked incredulously.

"This would be the first time. Perhaps it would be best if you left me in peace."

"And this will yield you an answer?"

"Possibly." Without opening her eyes, she sensed him leave the room. Taking a deep breath, she allowed her mind to float to a higher level, where she began to explore the natures of each manifestation. As she was meditating on the connexion between Fear and Trust, something brought her back to earth, and she opened her eyes to see, sitting beside her in the same position, none other than Jack Sparrow. "Oh my God."

He opened his eyes and turned to smirk at her. "Ello, poppet."

"Jack!" Tears in her eyes, she threw her arms around him.

He laughed and returned the embrace. "I suppose you must know me."

"Don't you remember me?" she asked, perplexed.

"I don't," he answered with the same cheerfulness. "Can't remember a thing. Is 'Jack' my name? I like the sound o' that."

It suddenly didn't matter that he had no memory. He was here, and he was speaking; she was at last reunited with the man who had acted as a surrogate parent to her in the time that she had been without home. "How have you been lately—that you can remember?"

"Everything is new."

"And you're okay with that?"

He stroked the fox, which lay between them and was almost never apart from him. "Can't be anything but."

"But you have no idea who you are, or the legacy of the person you were. You're incomplete. Aren't you upset? Aren't you mad?" He only exchanged a confused expression with Curiosity. He didn't understand what anger was. "That's what's missing," she realized. "Anger." She bounced into the next room. "Anger is the final one," she announced.

"Your meditation told you that?" James asked with raised eyebrow.

"No. Jack told me that." And right on cue, the pirate followed her into the room, the fox at his heels. James inhaled sharply. This was the first time he had seen the man he called his brother since that day he had betrayed the Navy. But the innocent, Shattered amnesiac did not even spare him a glance.

"I tire," he told the mystic.

"You been tryin' t' remember, haven't you?" she scolded him. "You must not do this til complete. Mus' not even try."

"I want to know them," he murmured softly, and for all his strange innocence, the words did not seem out of place with the pirate they all knew.

"Than we'll find that last manifestation and bring it back to you," Amy promised.

"Go and rest," Tia Dalma ordered. "Give us time to t'ink." He did as bidden, the red fox trotting after him. "Now: Anger."

"How shall we go about finding this one?" James asked warily.

The answer, "Anoder Yume ritual," confirmed his fears.

"Are you certain there is no other way?"

"Is dat fear?" she asked with a teasing smile. "De great Comm'dore afear'd o' dreams?"

"No. The great commodore is afraid of becoming a violent, raving lunatic," the lass replied bluntly.

"We went mad while we were on the _Oblivion_," Theodore explained. "Nearly killed the captain—he deserved it of course—but he had a gun on the girl, too."

Tia Dalma's teasing expression was replaced with gravity. "I fear for her safety, should it happen again," Norrington confessed. Theodore was surprised: normally, James would wait until he was in private to express uncertainty or inconfidence. Perhaps it was because he no longer cared. Or perhaps it was because the lass already knew his fears.

"Anoder Yume will only make t'ings worse," the mystic confirmed.

"But then how will we determine the final Realm?"

"It doesn't matter. I already know where it is," said the lass in a low growl.

"Doo you?"

"One very close to me, innit. Get your armour on, James. You'll be needing it." Without giving them a chance to argue or ask questions, she was out the door, off to climb her favourite tree and sit, looking out over the jungle, to compose herself before facing the evils of her own imagination.

Theodore and Demon, neither having 'armour', and not knowing what to do with themselves, followed her outside. The former looked warily up into the tree, concerned the lass might fall, while the cat, completely unworried, lay down at its roots, his paws tucked under his chest, and stared with a contented purr out at the river and the bayou. James came out not much later, that leather armour once again in place. "You know, I really do hate this thing."

"It's helped you before," replied the lass from above.

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," he called back.

At the sight of him, Theodore could only laugh. "You know, it fits you, James. Ha. Watch out, Master Norrington is at the head of the latest wave of fashion! Leather? That must be _so_ helpful. And a scarf! What lifesaving material!"

"It is," James replied solemnly, showing him the scores from the claws of Heartless, the slices from the swords and pikes of Narnia; even an arrowhead that was embedded in a plate on his chest. "Now, to have an important discussion." He scrambled up into the tree. "Come along."

"Wouldn't it be easier to simply call her down?" suggested Theodore.

"What? Can't you climb a tree?" James smirked. "She would not come down, should I ask. Stubborn creature," he muttered, and continued into the canopy. Exchanging bewildered expressions, Groves and Demon could only follow.

When at last they found a perch, they found the girl and former-commodore looking at them with impatient expressions. "You know, _Rebecca_, I would think that years of climbing into the shrouds would have made you a decent climber."

Groves rolled his eyes and muttered, "Piss off," under his breath.

"Oy!" cried the lass, who it seemed was remarkably keen of hearing. "Language!"

"Oy yourself, you. What about this world we're going to?" James steered them back on track. "How do you know that Anger is where you assume it to be?"

"It's the world I created. Anger is there because I made up that story out of anger toward humankind, and as you said, it's very likely now a real place."

"You are certain Anger will be there?"

She sighed. "Tia Dalma said it was all connected to me. Love was found in the Realm I love the most, as was Trust; Laughter came in a Realm that brings me delight; Curiosity in a land of wonder. Surely Rage would reside in a land that harbors my anger."

"No need to snap," grumbled Theodore.

"No. She is being influenced by the manifest emotion. This world is in her mind—which means that Anger is inside her as well," James explained. "Although—that does not explain why she has not been acting more angry the rest of this time."

"I haven't been thinking about it. I wrote about six pages in the beginning of a story back when I first made it up, then got writer's block and haven't thought about it since. Now can we please get going? We can waste time talking after we get there."

Theodore sighed. "And I only just got up here."

"Well who said anything about climbing down?"

"What?" The trees began to glow, until, brighter and brighter, they faded into light, and the bayou vanished altogether. There was a sense of floating, and the light grew brighter still, and warmer. The four were suddenly overcome with drowsiness, and soon even that unignorable light faded to black.

Perhaps hours later, Amy blinked her eyes open, and found herself lying on her back, staring up at a bright blue sky, puffs of white cloud sailing across. Two moons hung low in the sky; one large, and one small. They had made it. "Yes!" In spite of the situation, she was glad to be here. She sat up, looked around at the land, then looked down to see that she was a small, tan, rabbit-like rodent. "A pika? Since when have there been pikas? I never imagined that up—although...chubby, cuddly—also cute and fluffy! Yeh, pikas are allowed to be in my world." She heard a growl behind her and whirled around to face a dark leopard of browns and blacks, crouched with teeth bared, ready to pounce. In an instant, the real-life pikachu became a large silver wolf. She returned the snarl. "Back off!"

"You changed shape!" the cat exclaimed.

"Whuh—Demon?"

"Amy?" The tension died immediately. "But you—that wee little—I nearly—." and he just started laughing. "Have I changed looks like you have?"

"Yerp. I haven't named what you are yet, but it's a lot like a leopard or a jaguar, and a bit like a lion, too."

"Still a cat then," he sighed.

"I don't think even the world border can change that."

"If you both are quite finished," came a voice, and they both pointed their ears at a hollow in the taller grass. "I think something has gone very wrong. My legs—!"

"Are you all right? Hang on, Theodore." They sprang toward his voice. "Lookin' good, Teddy," she smirked when they came upon him. "You should go wigless more often."

"Why, he's a faun!"

"And you a cat, and you a wolf. Do you mean to tell me we are _supposed_ to change shape?" he asked accusingly, struggling to sit up.

"I suppose a little warning might ha'been nice," Demon conceded.

"Oops."

"Goodness me," poor Theodore murmured as he looked at the black, furry goat's legs. "I'm a goat."

"Half-goat, thank you, and the real goats will thank you to make the distinction," snapped the wolf, although mirth danced in her eyes. "Come on. I haven't heard from James yet, and the Realms have been known to separate us before."

"He can't be far off; I can smell him," Demon informed them. "But it is impossible to see through this grass." Here they stool in tall grass that reached up to mid-thigh on Theodore. To the west, that grass grew shorter until it met dense forests not far off. To the North, mountains stretched up on the horizon. To the south, rolling green hills. And to the east, the plains stretched away. Black smoke rose beyond the horizon.

"I'll find him." Without a thought, the wolf became a great, golden eagle and took to the skies. Not long after, they saw the bird circling in the air and followed after it.

"She can change her shape?" Theodore asked as they navigated through the tangled grasses.

"Apparently."

"Is that what she has become—like the way I've become a faun? Or is that simply her magic, letting her do as she pleases?"

"I cannee say."

As they drew nearer, they saw that the eagle had landed at the edge of the woods and was staring intently in. "I wonder what James has become."

"Something interesting, else this in't the imagination of a young lass."

Upon their arrival, the eagle became a foxalope—that is to say, a cross between a fox and an antelope. The creature had the face, paws, and tail of a fox, and the body, ears, and antlers of an antelope, on a whole being about the size of a large goat. "Well, where is he? I thought you had found him."

"I have." She turned back to the trees. "All right, James, everyone is here. Let's get going."

The branches rustled, and a muted rhythm of footsteps came their way. What stepped out hitched breaths in throats. "A centaur," Theodore breathed. And so he was. A strong, rich chestnut horse's body had replaced James' legs, and horse-like ears poked our from his hair. Suddenly, Groves smirked. "What happened to your life saving armour?" All he wore was a belt round his girth, from which hung his sword—a claymore, by the look of it.

James retorted, but the sound that came out of his mouth was purely equine. "That is his armour," replied the foxalope. "This Realm has given him one of the toughest hides in the land. Centaurs are hardy creatures—unlike the fragile faun."

"Enough," Norrington interrupted. "We must keep moving if we are going to find Rage in time." Then he caught the sounds he was making. "I speak like a horse," he murmured. "Can you understand me?" All answered in the affirmative.

"Speaking of Rage," commented Theodore, "You seem to have a lot less of it than a few minutes ago."

"That is because she is in the world, rather than the world in her. Anger's influence loses strength with distance."

He exchanged expressions with Demon. "Does that make sense?" The dappled cat shrugged, and they set after the others. "Where are we going anyway?"

The girl—for she had become such, and had climbed on James' back—pointed toward the eastern horizon. "You see that smoke? That means people. Whether it's people-people or not, I don't know, but people they must be. We'll start there, and won't stop til we find him. And we _will_ find him. We'll stop this world collision from happening. Let's ride!" With a neigh and a half-rear, James broke into an easy gallop, and Demon leapt after him.

"At last, some chest hair," the centaur observed with relief. It seemed very few other Realms were fond of it.

"You know, it's really sad that you notice this," Amy teased.

"Wait—wait—how do I run with these legs?"

"Come on, Theodore," the girl jested, voice continuing to grow fainter. "You're smart—figure it out."

At length he caught up with them—after all, James had an extra pair of limbs to contend with—and they halted at the top of a small rise. Ahead, though not the source of the smoke, a small town. "A human town," James nickered, muscles trembling with anticipation. "Am I to assume by the sudden urge to flee, that men are a danger to centaurs?"

"You are right to be cautious," replied the lass, sliding off his back and out of humanity. "Centaurs are hunted for sport, made into slaves, and in some places are eaten."

"But I am a man."

"Not anymore," interrupted what was now a gryphon.

"But I am half-man, am I not?"

"That is what I created in this world. No matter how human something may seem, man will only ever see an animal. He won't recognize intelligence, and he won't respect determination. They're just dumb animals."

"Still think Anger is so far off?" Theodore said to James.

"I do not think this is Sparrow's anger, if you don't mind me saying," Demon cut in. "I think it's her own. She made this world out of her anger, remember? It only fits that whatever she was angry at would be exaggerated here. That is how a young girl's mind tends to work—and please don't ask how I know."

"He's right. I was going to use this world to write a story about the ignorance of people, and the ecological battle being waged back home. Wolves are being slaughtered mercilessly when they pose no threat, and have long been at risk of becoming extinct. Wild horses are being taken from the wild—some are even being made into dog food. Whales are being harpooned, nearly a thousand a year, in a practice that most of the world has made illegal, but few are doing anything to stop. Rare rainforests are shrinking every day, putting literally millions of species in danger. _And_ the polar ice caps are melting. That means no more Christmas Coca-Cola pola' bears, among others." Again she had worked herself into a mood. "I could go on and on—the rant has no end—but we don't have time for that. We need to get moving and find Jack."

"And you don't think, with all the rage of people, that he might be in that very town?"

She paused to consider. "A village this close to the Wilderlands means people who welcome the wild. It may be safe, but I am scouting ahead first. If they are peaceful, we'll check it out."

As it were, the people indeed _were_ peaceful. They welcomed the creatures, offering food and rest—all kindness, no anger. Jack was not here. "Well now what?" asked Theodore when they met up again, after scouring the village for and signs.

"You didn't think it would be easy, did you?" whickered James. "We keep searching."

"Yes, but where? If there really is so much anger in this world like she said, how do we know which is Sparrow and which is just an angry person?"

"You know," the centaur conceded hesitantly, "he has a point."

The gryphon thought a moment. "He's right. Anger would not be where anger is."

"Come again?"

She turned back into a wolf. "What we are looking for is an anomaly; something that doesn't belong. If Anger were in a man-city, where anger is expected to be found, it would not be out of the ordinary. And besides, he couldn't be in a man-city anyway."

"Why not?"

"One of the manifestations was already a man. I have a feeling Shatterings don't play on repeat."

"So we look everywhere except civilisation," sighed Theodore.

"Wrong. We look everywhere except _human_ civilisation," she replied. "My way's better—it gives us even _more_ places to search."

James sagged. "Wonderful."

"We'll find him," Demon assured them with a determined expression.

"With a scant dozen days to scrutiny an entire Realm?"

"Amy, do you recall the way you searched out Laughter after our first try ended in failure?"

"It wasn't failure, it was a misreading of the casting."

"Yes, but in the end you hadn't needed the casting—you found him because you are connected with him."

She thought for a long time. "Let's go back to our starting place, away from the people here. We'll decide our next course of action from there."

"And waste time and energy? We should decide here," argued Theodore. But the wolf was already on her way. With dismay, he saw the centaur beginning to follow, and caught his arm to stop him. "Do you always follow her so blindly, James? Who leads, you or she?"

"The one who knows this world the best will lead. My only purpose is to protect," he replied calmly, and continued after the lupine. Demon followed, giving the faun a 'how-could-you-possibly-doubt-our-leader' look. With a sigh, Theodore could do nothing but follow after.

When they had reached their starting point, they stopped but briefly—only long enough for the wolf to become a ferret. "Keep going through the woods. This forest is all that separates men and beasts, and I will feel safer once we are out of human land."

"You fear your own people," murmured James. "You could become a person and join them, if you wanted."

"But I don't want to. I've been cruel in my characterisation of people, I understand that now. But I have also recognised their good—although people like those in the town we just left are very few. You're going to want to get moving soon, and once on your way, be swift. The black smoke on the horizon did not come from a town; it came from a hunting party. Black smoke always means men. They'd have a ball—not to mention a feast—if they found you."

"And where will you be in all this?" Theodore demanded.

"Somewhere not here." And with that, she curled up in James' arms and closed her eyes. She felt James spring into a center, and heard Groves grumbling about her taking a nap at a time like this, before her consciousness left that party and went somewhere not there. She felt herself floating up, up, until she soared through the sky, above the forest. Below, she could see the small party galloping through the trees. Satisfied that they would be safe, she left them behind, shooting far west.

She had never had the chance to map out her world, but as she shot through the sky, the land below her did not seem so foreign. The forest stretched out for leagues, and was the deepest at the place where her companions would make their course. Past those woods were more plains, their grasses tall, growing above even James's head. These hills and flatlands stretched as far west as the eye could see, to a distant shadow beyond the horizon. It stretched south to the sea, which from here could be seen—but only from the height of the tallest mountains. Ah, the mountains, always in the North, a jagged, treacherous, purplish-grey horizon stretching high, so high, and yet standing farther away than said mountains were tall.

A pang hit her. _I should've put the mountains between the Wilderlands and the Men. Then there wouldn't be such problems. Perhaps I can have an earthquake that will raise a barrier—although that would mean destroying part of the forest. Stupid! You should have though it through back when you had the chance. No doubt the people would just get around it anyway. Persevering bastards._ She caught herself. What was she getting so worked up about? There was supposed to be conflict—there had to be so that her story, if it was ever written, could resolve those problems. _That seems like an unprovoked fit of rage_, she thought wryly. _I suppose I must be in the right place. Question is, where am I?_ While she had been on a mental rant, she had drifted toward the mountains. She looked down and saw what looked like a series of crop circles in the tall grasses. _Gotcha_. It had only been a few hours. She shot back toward the great forest.

But she came back to herself not peacefully, but with a jolt. Instead of the calm rhythm of a relaxed gallop, she found James sprinting all out, zigzagging between the trees. She couldn't see Theodore or Demon. "James!" she cried. "What's happening?"

"Men!" he whinnied. "Chasing us."

"Theodore? Demon?"

"Here!" She could hear them, but not see them.

That didn't matter, however. What she could see were black shapes flitting through the trees, and could hear the thunder of hooves; they rode horses. James sprinted for his life through the dark trees, the ferret desperately hanging on. Suddenly, a _flit!_ Something flew through the air, narrowly missing the centaur. "They're firing arrows!"

"Run, James!" More and more arrows flew through the trees as they swerved to evade them. One caught the centaur in the arm, nearly causing him to drop the ferret. Without slowing, he tore it out of his flesh and kept running. She could see more black shapes galloping through the trees, at least two dozen. Could these be the same hunters who had made the black smoke beyond the horizon? If they were, then they were incredibly fast, and the little party of beasts would soon be overtaken. She heard Demon cry out in pain, and saw him shoot across James's path, running faster than ever. Another arrow struck the stallion in his horse-shoulder. He grunted, but did not slow. It seemed more arrows were finding their marks, and the rain of shafts was steadily thickening. Another drove deep into his flank.

"This is no use!" he cried. "We should stand and fight!" His good hand was already on the hilt of his sword.

"There are too many," she argued. "We wouldn't stand a chance."

"Then we are lost."

Thinking quickly, and recalling words of Tia Dalma, she made her decision. "Not yet. Theodore! Demon! To us!" The dark leopard and faun were beside them in an instant. "Go left, James! Now!" Another arrow lodged itself in his hindquarters, and he faltered. "Come on!" she pleaded. But he tripped up and fell to his knees. The hunters would catch them! Somehow finding the strength, he struggled back to his hooves and galloped on. Then he saw it. A cave far in the distance. But they still had to get there. With the hunters gaining—more and more arrows—they would be overtaken, they would be cut off and surrounded. With a great leap, he cleared a cleft in the ground he had not seen before, and the four of them continued as deep into the cave as they could. And it was a very deep cave.

They heard a few cries behind them as some of the riders fell into the fault before the cave's mouth, but the arrows did not stop. Amy screamed when one grazed her back. They met with a dead end. Trapped! Cornered! "Go right!" It wasn't a cave; it was a tunnel. Hooves and claws skidding on the stone, the three made the hard turn and disappeared around the corner, where they slowed to a stop. Behind them, the arrows still flew, breaking against the back wall they had nearly been cornered against. But there was no sound of anyone in the tunnel—one centaur, a faun, and a leopard were not so valuable that the huntsmen would risk the crevice in the ground to get to them. Soon, the arrows stopped, and the hunters were gone.

They had made it.

* * *

That last bit was written to "Once Upon a Time in Africa", from the second Madagascar movie.

So there you have it; a holiday present from me to you. Perhaps you could return the favour with a review?


	38. Evenshade

On my sixteenth birthday, my best friend gave me an Aztec pirate medallion necklace. That thing has shared many adventures with me over the last two years; Ireland, Guatemala, band camp; I wore it during my very last football game when I cried while conducting. Then, right before winter break, I lost it. I was emo all through the holidays, and knowing my school, where I had lost it, I despaired of ever seeing it again. I had all but given up hope when, miraculously, it was returned to me! On that same day, Jan 23, I received even more joyous news. I HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED TO COLLEGE! WOOO

-Sigh- Now that my rant is over, I know this story has just been stretching on and on forever. This chapter probably seems a little rushed, but I'm just trying to get it really moving, cuz I feel like it's sorta just sitting there. There are only four or five more chapters left, and then -pfft- it's over.

**Little Miss Sparrow:** -gasp- YOU know the Pirate Rap?! WOO! -glomp- I'm glad you share my sentiments.

**Disclaimer****:** **The only money I have is enough that buying lunch at school once a month sets me back three weeks. Do you really think I own it?**

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: Evenshade**

"Wait. Wait. I need to stop," Demon panted. They had gone maybe a mile from the start of the tunnel, and only now did Amy recognize the shaft of an arrow jutting out of his shoulder.

"I think we all need a rest," James nickered in a low voice. The ferret looked around at their small group, suddenly realising how haggard they all looked. She had gotten the least of it; only a grazing of her back. "We should build a fire, to warm up and ward off stiffness."

"Don't worry, I'm on it."

"But there can't be any wood in here," Theodore sounded weak and distant. "What would we use to start one?"

"Leave that to me." And she became a brilliant mammal-bird creature that glowed with flame as though it burned.

"And what's this?" asked Demon as he lay down beside her.

"My take on an old favourite."

"Which is..."

"Firebird, phoenix, Ferrari—wait no, that's a car."

James eased himself to the ground, carefully folding his legs beneath him. He checked the wound on his arm where he had earlier pulled out an arrow. "Not bad. That should hardly scar at all."

"It's a lucky thing they don't have arrowheads, of that could have been a lot worse. It confuses me. That sort of arrow would never have much effect on game like you, James. But there can't be that large a group of hunters and have them be incompetent, either. Something wasn't right."

James gritted his teeth as he pulled an arrow out of his horse-shoulder, then studied the sharpened wood that served as its tip. "No poison." The fire bird was nearly doused by her own relief. They didn't want to go through _that_ again.

"But then they'd never catch anything," said Theodore. "How can they be such dangerous hunters if they have such primitive weapons?"

James grunted as he pulled another arrow out of his flank. "Amy is the one to ask about that."

She shook her fiery head. "I don't know anything about that. Maybe it's because I haven't written the story yet. Nothing important is happening."

"May I borrow one of your paws, pet?" the centaur asked after struggling to remove the final arrow from his haunch. It had left a particularly nasty-looking wound.

"But you'll get burned."

"That is precisely the point. It won't close on its own."

She knew she couldn't just sit there and burn him. She sighed and reached around to pluck a large golden feather from one of her wings with her beak. "Put that over it. It should burn you like you want."

"Come now, don't say it like that. I'm only doing what I know how to." He hissed as he pressed the feather against the wound. There was a sizzling sound. "I can't help it if I am not a 'technologically advanced' doctor like you claim to have in your world," he went on, voice pinched with pain. At last the job was done and the wound was closed.

"How flexible you are, James," marveled Theodore as he tended to his own wounds—a chunk had been taken out of his thigh, and another out of his side—seeing his friend able to twist around and reach all the way back to his rump.

"To think I got hit the most," he mused with humour. "Come here, let me take care of that."

"Well you do present the biggest target," Groves jested as he sat beside his friend.

"Watch it." James pressed the skin together and the feather over it. "Demon, how are you doing?"

The leopard-like creature was staring into the darkness of the tunnel. "I'm fine," he murmured, deep in thought. He had already pulled the arrow out with his teeth and given the wound a good lick.

"You haven't said much," observed the lass. "What are you thinking about?"

"Aboot this tunnel. Was it always a tunnel? I didn't see an opening out of the cave—but then it was there. Was the cave always there? It seemed to just appear out of nowhere—and that ravine to boot. I could have sworn there was solid ground before me, but then, like an afterthought, it was there. Only made it across because cats are decent jumpers—and centaurs and fauns too, I suppose."

James looked at the firebird. "Amy?"

"What? Tia Dalma said I had the equivalent of 'Authoress Powers.' Well I _am_ the author here. A tunnel that the hunters couldn't get into seemed mighty convenient to me." He only stared at her contemplatively: she could manipulate this entire Realm to her liking.

"Speaking of powers," mused Theodore, "Why didn't you change shape when we were being pursued? You could have gotten away or perhaps fought them off."

"If I had changed shape they would still be after us, no matter how inaccessible this tunnel is. Shapeshifters are rare enough, and their hides are incredibly valuable; it is said that wearing the skin of a shapeshifter grants invisibility." She pursed her beak. "And besides, I couldn't leave you guys behind." Theodore nodded his understanding.

"We should keep moving," said the centaur, heaving himself to his hooves. "There is still a lot of ground to cover, and I'd like to get out of these tunnels before nightfall, if you don't mind."

"How's everyone doing?" Theodore had hardly any pain, and though Demon continued to limp, it was more out of stiffness that discomfort, and as they hurried through the tunnels, it soon improved. In spite of their relatively slow pace, the miles passed easily, although with the progression of time, James' discomfort became apparent. "Are you all right?" the firebird asked, banking to avoid a stalactite as she flew near the ceiling, lighting their way.

"I suppose centaurs do not like being confined. The wind, the sky—they do not come to this place."

The phoenix nodded sympathetically. "We'll be out of here soon enough," she promised. "Perhaps we could stand to pick up the pace a little." The leagues passed more agreeably, and soon the rough stone of the tunnels gave way to polished rock and pillars. Sunlight shone down through great fissures in the ceiling, and they could see the branches of trees above.

"Does someone live here?" Theodore wondered, hoofsteps echoing through the great halls.

"Maybe some day. I don't know."

At last they emerged back into the forest. Golden light filtered down through the canopy as the sun passed its zenith. Noon had passed. They continued through the great pine trees until they came to a wide river. "Perhaps we ought to stop here," Demon suggested, whose paws were aching from traveling for so long over the hard stone of the tunnels.

"There is still daylight left," argued Groves. "We should cover as much ground as we can."

"Perhaps we could just take a rest, then," offered Amy, who had by now become a snow leopard. "We hardly stopped at all in the tunnels."

"Sorry," James flicked his ears sheepishly. "But I think we should keep moving. We shall take our meal, and then continue. I want at least to cross the river and see what lies on the other side." That was reasonable.

"How far have we gone?" asked the faun.

"I did not count the leagues, but I am sure we covered more distance that we expected to."

"Yeah," agreed the lass. "And once we get out of the woods, the going will be even faster."

"One problem," said Theodore. "What will we do for food?" That question was soon answered—well, partially—as they were discovered by the fauns that lived in those woods. Few of them had ever left the Great Forest, and so marveled at the strange creatures. Even Groves was a source of fascination.

"See his dark hair and olive skin—how strange!" "Surely he must be from the Easternesste Woods at the far side of the land." Fauns are polite but territorial. They offered small trifles of food in the hopes that, the edge taken off their hunger, the strangers would leave their land. And such they did—but only after James discovered that he had in fact _two_ stomachs, and that both were hungry. Before long, the small party departed, swimming across the gentle river and emerging on the other bank.

"I assume we were not well-liked, despite the hospitable treatment," sighed James, shaking off the excess water.

"I dunno, they seemed to like Theodore rather well. They asked him to stay after all."

"That's because I'm one of them."

"But they said you weren't," Demon reminded him. "They thought you looked funny."

"No, what looks funny is that," Groves pointed at a creature which pushed off the near bank and swam downstream. It looked like a horse with a fish tail.

"Hippocampus," replied James, who was generally acquainted with Greek mythology. "Like a mermaid, except equine."

By now very hungry, in spite of the fauns' 'hospitality', they pressed onward in search of food. They found little aside from the occasional wild berries, and James' claymore proved ill in the course of hunting. "Well you're the writer, think up some food," said Theodore.

"It doesn't work like that. I can't just make something up willy-nilly. It has to work with the world, or else the whole balance will be thrown off."

"Oh and I suppose a giant tunnel appearing out of nowhere won't effect the balance at all!"

"I plan to use it in the plot, therefore it works."

"Enough, enough," neighed the former-commodore. "This argument will get us nowhere. If we are to eat any time soon, we will have to find it ourselves, not stand here quarreling."

"The centaur speaks wisely," came a voice. "You would do well to listen to him." They turned to see half a dozen tall men, whose ears were pointed and whose countenance held a grace and dignity normally unseen in anything masculine. Elves, then. They were clad in greens and browns, their beards neat and their eyes shining brilliantly like jewels. The blonde elf at the head of their party was the one who had addressed them. James nodded in acceptance of what had been said, and the two groups surveyed one another. "You are a strange mix," observed the blonde elf. "A centaur from the western plains traveling from the east; a dark faun from the distant Easternesste; a dark leopard from the far north of these woods; and a snow leopard from the farthest mountains. Such a gathering is unheard of. You cannot have come together for no reason. You are on a mission."

"That is true," replied the lass. "A person was Shattered into many pieces and the responsibility has fallen on us to find them. There is but one left, and we believe it is in the far north, near the Great Pass."

"You have far to go."

"And little time to get there. It is urgent."

"Then perhaps you should come with us. We cannot offer much, but at least we can give you something to lend swiftness to your limbs."

"And where would you take us? Why are you so willing to help?" James asked suspiciously.

"I can feel a strain on the entire world. We all can. The trees are anxious, the rocks are crying, the stars have ceased to sing. The very earth below us breathes with unease. Your mission is connected to that, I know, and I will do anything I can to kelp this land turn away from that darkness."

"We cannot make our city before nightfall," said one of the other elves, his hair dark and his eyes green. "But we can take you back to our camp and give you food."

"We should reach our city before noon tomorrow, if we rest tonight," added another elf. "There, the Healers may give you something that will help your journey."

Trusting them, and rather too weary to argue, the four followed the elves out of the small clearing and into the woods. "It is not far," the blonde elf reassured them. "I am known as Silent-Arrow."

As they followed Silent-Arrow and his comrades through the green shadows of the wood, the light a shining golden glow as the sun sank toward the horizon, Theodore leant over to the snow leopard. "Rather convenient that they offer their help so easily here and now," he quipped.

Amy's tail curled. "It was the only way to shut you up. But they made the offer of their own accord; I only wanted them to feed us."

"Now we have a guide through these woods," added Demon. "Weary as I am, I think we shall cover as much ground tomorrow as today, now that we'll know the quickest paths."

It was indeed not long until they came to the elves' camp. At first they saw nothing; elves leave almost no sign that they are there. Eventually, though, they were able to discern vine ropes and ladders leading up into the canopy. The company sprang into the branches, soon returning with their gear until their camp had been reset on the ground—a centaur or a faun cannot very well climb up a tree, after all. A fire was sparked to ward off the chill of night, and the party were offered part of the day's catch. There was deer and rabbit, not to mention several sorts of fowl. They must have been a hunting party. "Eat and be not hungry," Silent-Arrow bid them merrily. "From the thunder of your stomachs, I would guess you had not eaten in days!"

Eagerly they tucked in. "So...big question time," posed the lass. "Grazing or utensils?"

James gave her a sideward look. "You don't really think I could very well get my face to the ground, do you? And even if I could, what an awkward position!"

"How far do you think we've gone?" Theodore muttered to Demon, who shrugged.

"Whence did you begin?" an elf asked.

"Near the edge of the wood, this morning."

"We are at the very center of the great wood," Silent-Arrow replied. "To either side is more than forty leagues."

The creatures looked at one another in astonishment. "But that is more than one hundred twenty miles," exclaimed Groves. "We cannot have gone so far."

"I dunno," mused Ames. "We've been going for almost eighteen hours, kept up a decent pace, and only briefly stopped to rest. One-twenty into eighteen; that's less than seven miles an hour on average." It is safe to say that she was a decent mathematician.

"Yes, but there were some places we galloped and some where we walked. I am amazed that we made up for our slow pace in the tunnels."

"Which wasn't that slow," the lass reminded him with a mock glare at James. And so they spent the night, in good company and with full bellies. It took the centaur a while to figure out how he was supposed to sleep—certainly not lying down!—but after then, with the two moons shining gently in the black expanse of the sky, sleep came to the weary party and soothed the leagues from their limbs.

They arose early the next morning, before even dawn. The only sign that day would ever come was the faint grey twilight that enshadowed them now. By the time the elves had packed their gear and catches, which did not take long, and everyone was ready to leave, James saw that Amy had fallen back asleep. "Come on, pet," he nudged her with his hoof. "Surely six hours of sleep should be sufficient until we reach this elf-city."

She flicked her tail irritatedly, but did not open her eyes. "I'm a teenager. I need at least eight hours or I can't function." With a sigh, she seemed to go back to sleep.

James considered threatening to leave her behind, but refrained, recalling that she probably knew the land a lot better than he. "Well, I guess I will just have to sit on you, then."

The snow leopard sprang to her paws. "I'm up, I'm up!" Everyone else had seen this exchange apparently, for they were all laughing or amused.

* * *

Before noon, the party came upon a great clearing in the woods, although there was only a small corresponding opening in the canopy above. Built into the trees were wooden buildings, the trunks like pillars. Higher up were open platforms supported by the crosstrees, and the branches grew through them and around them. Truly it was more a settlement and less a city, but equally true, it held the same beauty and elegance of a prospering acropolis.

At first glance it seemed deserted; but when Silent-Arrow called out a greeting, the small town instantly came to life. Elves seemed to materialize out of the leaves, greeting their hunting party merrily. Still, they checked themselves when they saw who was with them. "They are on a mission," Silent-Arrow explained. "They are going to ease the strain on the land."

Silently, many wondering eyes turned back to stare at them. "Er—he said you might help us," James stuttered, ever the awkward one when not acting all professional. "We need to get to the Great Pass within a week." Urgency sparked into those staring eyes, and it was suggested that they be taken to see the leader of the settlement.

Of the nine small buildings built near ground level, they were arranged in a crescent around the grassy clearing, smallest buildings at the ends, and growing larger toward the middle, the largest being about the height of a two-car garage with a loft. It was toward this last that Silent-Arrow led them. It seemed near to like a palace—if not that, then a mansion—for its entire structure, even the tree-trunk pillars, were polished and seemed to glow a deep green. The great doors were a rich brown, which had a golden sheen in the sunlight. Over these was an arch, with elegant designs and patterns carved into and beneath it, making up for the plainness that contributed to the unmarred beauty of the doors.

Expecting it to be as much a building inside as out, they were surprised to find that the entire structure was like a living garden. The walls were of vines, bushes and shrubs entangled with the trunks of trees. The roof was merely the crisscrossing, interwoven branches of the canopy. The floor was an extremely lush, soft grass that rose to ankle height. The front of this emerald hall was nearly empty, save for some bushes growing in the corners. There was what looked like a throne carved out of emerald at the center of the room, and behind it, an "indoor" garden of smaller fruit-bearing trees, white berries, and flowers. In the middle of the back wall, the first stone they had seen thus far, a fountain that fed into a tiny stream which wound its way through the garden and out through a break in the wall.

"If Jack could see this place," sighed Amy.

James snorted softly. "You think he would appreciate it?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. His horsey side would like it, no matter how much he denies it."

"Come," Silent-Arrow beckoned them. "Our master awaits you."

They were led past the empty throne to the back, the garden. From amid the plants emerged a tall, regal elf dressed in plain brown and white, but wearing a silver circlet round his head, a white jewel at its center. His hair and eyes were white, though he did not appear any older than Silent-Arrow. "Welcome," he greeted them with a placid smile. "I am Silver-Wing, Lord of the Wood Elves, and you are a strange party indeed to come from the east: A western centaur, an eastern faun, a northern leopard, and even a rare shapeshifter."

Silent-Arrow looked at the snow leopard in surprise, as if he had not realised. Amy cocked her head. "How did you know?"

"Snow leopards are shy, reclusive creatures who prefer to stay in the cold of the mountainsides. Rarely will they venture away, and if ever they do, they only long to return. It is not so with you. Your curiosity and inquisitiveness betray you. You have already expressed your affection for this place, so clearly unsuited for one of that kind." Amy smiled and shifted into the form of a wolf, better suited to her surroundings. "Such a group must be on an important venture indeed. If you are in need of help, then it is only my duty that I should give it."

They did not stay long in the elf city; there was much ground yet to be covered. From Silver-Wing they received gifts of war and protection. James was given a bow and a quiver of arrows, and a small shield better fit for use as a weapon than a shield, as well as a saddle pocket to carry food and gear. To Theodore he gave a fauns' spear, with its lethal sickle-blade sharpened to a shine at the end, metal horn tips, and an elven dagger. Demon was given metal claw tips, a black chain-mail shirt, and a dark green tunic to wear over it. And to Amy he gave a collection of knives for all uses, for when she had hands, and he placed a special pendant round her neck for protection.

From the Emerald Hall they proceeded to the healing house, the smaller building next door. There, the Healers gave them unusual herbs and powders to be mixed in with food for strength, and a small flask filled with a faintly glowing pale aquamarine liquid. "To lend speed to your limbs," they explained, and each of the four took a sip. Instantly they felt energy shoot through them like white fire, and it came time to bid farewell to the city where they longed to stay, in which only an hour ago they had arrived. Silent-Arrow relinquished his duty as their guide, and was replaced by Running-Wind, a tan, auburn elf who would be able to match their faster pace. With aching hearts that yearned to stay and explore, the company swept out of the city to complete their journey.

The trees went by as a blur as they flashed through the forest, exhilarated by the flight-like sensation of their speed, hooves, paws, and feet hardly touching the ground. They soon forgot the urgency of their mission, instead racing one another to see who had gained the most speed from the cordial. The leagues passed nearly as quickly, and James suddenly skidded to a stop, the others with him, to stare in amazement at the green and golden plains stretching away in front of them. At last, they had reached the edge of the Great Forest.

Here they took a short rest, for it was late in the afternoon and they had already been going for several hours. From here their path at last turned North, and soon they were flying in that direction. The terrain was easy enough; shallow hills, short grasses, and soft ground. They did not expect to stop, even to rest, until a great curiosity piqued their interest.

"What are those?" James asked.

"Dinner, I hope," growled Demon.

The wolf batted him upside the head with a paw. "Not for you."

What they stared at was a herd of tiny horses, grazing in the gentle evening. They were not ponies, nor were they foals, at least not all. And most importantly, they were not what we have come to know as 'miniature horses', for though those are claimed to have the same shape and build as a normal horse, they indeed do not. These small equids before them, however, did. If one were to photograph one on a white background with nothing to compare for size, one viewing it would think it a full-sized horse. They came in many sizes: the largest were nearly three feet at the withers; the smallest were half that height. "What are they called?" the centaur asked.

"I think I called them gala, after the apples, but that'll prob'ly change eventually."

"Why did you make them so small?" asked Theodore.

"Across the river, there are giant horses at least twenty-five hands tall, and they only get bigger. In the plains on the man-side of the forest run horses and ponies in the sizes you're used to. There are a lot of horse-related creatures in this world. Unicorns and pegasii and unipegs and hippocamps and hippogriffs and centaurs and, and horseflies—not to mention all the other species that live here. What can I say? I'm obsessed."

"Can they speak?" wondered the centaur, still fascinated by the tiny creatures.

"Only horse-talk, although the elves have managed to teach some to use common speech for the purpose of high councils and meetings." Running-Wind confirmed this.

James immediately whinnied a greeting, and Amy took the form of one, a bright palomino with a blaze and flaxen mane. Several tiny heads popped up, ears pricked, nostrils flared, to stare at the newcomers, before eagerly trotting over to greet them, sniffing curiously, even at the leopard. Demon was surprised at this, for he had expected them to shy away from a predator like he, so many times larger than they, and who had moments ago been considering having one for a snack.

"They see your elven mail and our symbol on your tabard," Running-Wind told him. "Because they trust we elves, they trust you also."

Soon, the party was back on their course. The little horses galloped alongside them, friendly creatures, and for all their small stature and short strides, they kept pace with the swift feet of the travelers, weaving around and in front of them, not unlike a pod of dolphins swimming alongside a great ship.

As the sun was beginning to set, a distant rumble came to their ears, and it was not long before a great waterfall came into sight. "We should stay the night here, and brave the falls in the morning," suggested James. "These small horses say there is little danger in these lands."

"I agree," said Theodore. "I can feel that potion beginning to wear off, and with it that childish giddiness I have felt all day."

"Childish giddiness or unbridled joy?" quipped the lass.

"If I may make a suggestion," said Running-Wind, "There is still daylight left; perhaps you should venture the falls today. They are the junction of two rivers, and in the land between live the river elves. They will give you food and shelter for the night."

They agreed that it sounded like a good idea, but "How are we to get to the top by nightfall?" Theodore voiced their concerns.

"It has been long since I visited the elves of the great river, but I remember well a secret passage that is the only way to climb these falls," said Running-Wind.

"Lead the way," said Amy, and they continued until they stood on the bank of the swirling pool at the base of the falls. At the summit, they could see the shining castle gleaming majestically in the setting sun, seemingly made of glass-like rock, or perhaps rock-like glass.

Running-Wind pointed to a series of thin, crooked ledged that were half-submerged in the falls, leading up to the very top. "There lies the path. Each of those shelves is connected behind the water. It is treacherous, but possible. You will need to press yourselves as close to the wall as you can. Centaur, your size may be disadvantageous, but you have great strength to aid you." And so they began. The incline was steep and rocky, and when it ascended behind the thundering falls, not only was it slippery, but the falling water grabbed and pulled at them, as though trying to yank them down. Amy changed shape every time she slipped or stumbled, not an ounce of composure, and she wondered how the elf in the lead could make the climb so calmly and effortlessly.

The sun had long been set by the time they reached the top, only a band of gold on the horizon a sign that the night was young. In the ample light of the two moons, the lass, now a cat, crept to the edge and looked over the four hundred foot drop they had just climbed. Looking sick and swallowing uneasily, she backed away, and went to curl up between James and Demon. They were all exhausted, even fleet Running-Wind, for the elixir of speed had at last worn off, and it seemed the leagues were catching up with them. "Hey you, don't fall asleep," neighed the centaur, roughly scratching the feline's back in an irritating manner.

"Nghh...teenager...sleep-deprived," she mumbled.

"The castle is not far. They will give us good food and warm quarters. Come, pet, the night is still young." Suppressing a yawn, she turned into a foxalope and the party staggered wearily toward the great city. More than a castle, an enormous structure built into the cliffs that contributed to the waterfall, they saw that they had scaled but one of many stair steps over which the water cascaded, actually falling through channels built into the city that clung to the cliffsides. In the bright moonlight, the city's stone shone silver. It all seemed rather a lot like Rivendell, actually....

Running-Wind at the head, the river elves cheerfully greeted first him, a cousin to their own, then just as merrily the rest of the party. The Lord of the River Elves was soon among them, and when he heard their story, offered to throw them a great feast. They politely declined the honour, however, stating that a simple meal would be better suited, as they were very tired and unfit for the social gathering such a feast called for.

The river elves were much different from the wood elves, it seemed. They were a cheerful as the water bubbling all around them, and dressed in all shades of blue, while the valenced, green-and-brown clad Running-Wind, like his kind, was quiet and more reserved.

It was with great relief that they at last went to bed—in beds, no less!—and with equally great sorrow that they again left in the morning, once more wishing to stay longer in that beautiful city, whose glass-rock shone a brilliant gold in the light of the rising sun. "Farewell, and may the water carry you in the right direction," the elf-lord bid them. "Several of our own traveled north to appease the darkness, but none have yet returned, nor has the imbalance lessened."

Another draught of the elixir, and they were away, a small thunder rolling across the plains. The leagues passed them by as they in turn passed through shallow hills and tall grasses, the line of the Great Forest always to their right. In the distance, to the west, the grass grew much higher, nearly as tall as trees. Centaurs lived there, Amy told them, and James' ears pricked with interest before they swiftly left the source of his fascination behind.

They came to a great lake, many leagues wide, its surface smooth as glass, the sun glinting blindingly off the water. They saw several hippocampii as they skirted its eastern shore and the unceasing line of trees in the distance disappeared. They even managed to see a few merpeople, and the others, being former men, could only stop and gawk. Amy rolled her eyes, became a giant lioness, and chased them the rest of the way round the mere lest they be tempted to waste time staring again.

Many rivers and streams were crossed, and where the forest had swerved away from them, it now veered back to cross their path, and on their fourth night they made camp in a thin swath of woodland that jutted out from the Great Forest. There were strange lights in the trees, which the lass assured them were harmless; they were just the lights of the faeries and the dryads. "The ones you want to watch out for are the nightmares."

"Dreams?" asked Demon, concerned that mere imaginings could, in this world, be dangerous.

"That too, but no."

"I think she means some other form of horse," suggested the faun. "The word mare is in the name. So what is it then? Some macabre skeletal beast with fangs and the wings of a bat?"

"Thestrals. Wrong fandom." She laughed. "I'd love to have something like that, but then J.K. would have my ass for copyright infringement. No, nightmares are like those," she gestured with her paw. They turned to see very tiny horses, smaller even than the gala they had seen earlier, only about half a foot to a foot tall.

"Why are they called nightmares?" queried Demon, again anticipating a snack.

"Besides the fact that they're nocturnal? They're pests, mostly—not to us, more to men-folk. They have developed quite a taste for meat. You know the saying, 'don't let the beg bugs bite'? Here they say, 'don't let the nightmares bite,' which has multiple meanings." Now they saw that the little horses were not grazing, but sniffing the ground for signs of food. As they lifted their hooves, they saw long cleat-like spikes which dug into the ground for traction and doubled as claws.

"You were right about the fangs, Rebecca," nickered James, noticing the sabre-teeth that glinted in the dim tree-light as one lifted its finely-sculpted head to look at them.

"Make sure they don't get a whiff of our food, or we'll be paying for it in the morning."

"What do they eat?"

"Everything from faeries to rabbits."

Later into the evening, a large shadow fluttered down from the branches overhead to land on Demon's nose, slowly opening and closing its large, shimmering wings. "Why, it's a wee little horse," he exclaimed softly. A wee little horse with giant butterfly wings.

"Horseflies," said the lioness as a whole swarm came to land on or near them, all three or four inches tall. There was a black one on her paw, its wings black with bands of silver, grey, and white, rearing to paw the air and loosing excited, high-pitches squeals. "Isn't she beautiful. She's like a Friesian." Among these they were soon able to discern little people about the height of a finger, which flew with much smaller wings and had small pom-pom antennae atop their heads. "And yes, those are faeries. Horseflies to faeries are like normal horses to men."

Again they were forced to leave behind a fascinating miniature realm that contributed to what the entire world was. As the dark of night left, so did the four musketeers, thundering through the plains. Ahead of them loomed the ever-present mountains, stretching up into the sky, taller than any heights we might imagine today. In the very centre of that range stood the tallest of tall mountains, two enormous peaks which rose together in such a way that they looked like one enormous mount, their tops invisible for the clouds. "That's odd," mused the lass as she looked at them. "I always imagined the left one without its upper half." She shrugged it away, however, thoughts wandering instead to the small forest at the mouth of the Pass. They would reach it that evening, and then their real mission would start.

* * *

There are only a few chapters left. My goal for this story has and always will be 300 reviews. Please help me reach that goal.


	39. Vesuvius

Hi guys, I know this chapter is late—I know it also is not a Fears update. See, the thing is, I'm reeeeeallly busy lately: I've got projects galore for school, I have jazz band, pit orchestra, bell choir, church choir, I have to practice a crapload of music for region band, and...and...other stuff!!! So until March or April sometime, updates will not be regular. Thanks for your patience.

To those of you who still bother to review: thank you so much for your faithfulness and support! It's what keeps me going. And Hil, don't worry I know you're still there.

**Disclaimer (**not that anyone reads this anymore**): I own nothing but the land of Evenshade. Everything else is up to Jerry Bruckheimer.**

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Vesuvius**

In the afternoon of their fifth day in the realm, they came to a great forest of what we might call elephant grass. It tangled around their legs and tripped them up, but at least it was neither sharp nor stinging. Their pace slowed, and they could no longer see to keep their course. After a long time, fearing they were lost, they came to a large circle cut out of the grass. There were huts and lean-tos woven from wood and grass, and small open buildings that resembled stables. In the centre of this circle was a large fire pit, which had until recently held a great fire, for its embers still glowed and smouldered. It had obviously been a very busy place, but now it was empty. Tools lay on the ground, as though they had been hastily discarded amid their use. All of the most recent hoof prints led out through a gap in the 'wall', which appeared to be a path through the grass. Wondering where everyone had gone, and wary of getting lost again, they followed the centaurine road, not knowing where it would lead them.

After several miles, they could see another clearing ahead. From this they heard voices talking excitedly. Warily, they emerged. This clearing was much like the last, but here a couple of mares were looking after several foals and younglings. One of them looked up to see them, and when she saw the leopard and the huge lioness, she neighed in alarm, and all the foals dashed to stand behind her as she fitted an arrow to a bow and aimed it at the predators. James stepped forward. "We mean you no harm," he nickered, and did not flinch when she turned her aim to him. He could see her debating whether or not to trust his word. He took another step closer. "We come in peace," he repeated gently.

Centaurs tend to be decent judges of character, and this mare was no exception. She saw his words for what they were and cast aside her weapon. "It is strange to see a centaur among such folk," she said. 'Who are you? Why have you come here?"

"We—er—got a little lost," James confessed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "We came here by accident."

Amy took the less threatening form of an elf. Surprised, the centauress then turned her eyes to Demon, as though expecting him to change shape also. "Sorry," he flicked his ears, "I'm a carnivore through and through."

"We're just passing though," said the lass. "We are headed toward the Great Pass."

A new look came into her eyes. "Many share that destination. A council has just been called. I think you had better come with me." Leaving the other mare to tend to the children, she led them down another path carved out of the yellow grass. It was much wider and shorter, and they could hear a great many voices, all trying to speak at once, arguing with one another. Soon they emerged at the edge of the centaur grass, clear ground following a wide stream in either direction. Across said stream was a small forest that seemed to mirror the area of the centaurs' territory. Just beyond those woods, the pass.

In the clearing was a great semblance of creatures: centaurs, fauns, minotaurs, bears, small and large horses, gryphons, hippogriffs, sprites, owls, eagles, lions, tigers, leopards, wolves, lynx, and representation for four of the five elf nations, for the fifth, the snow elves, would join with them if they should ever chose to go through the pass. But right now, they argued over whether they should wait for the rest of the expected creatures to come, or leave immediately to fight the strange evil that had entered their land. They took no notice of the small party that had just entered.

"What's happening?" asked Amy. "Why have they gathered?"

"They sense a danger in the mountains, and have come together to battle against it before it destroys the land."

"Who do they wait for?" wondered Demon.

"The equitaurs. They live in the woods across the creek, and yet have not come. En'iuqé, our leader, believes that since we must go through the forest to get to the pass, they would meet our warriors on their way. But Esroh believes that there must be something keeping them, and that if we just go right through without knowing what that something is, we may be passing right into danger."

"We are prepared for war; we will meet whatever it is with force," argued En'iuqé, "if indeed there is anything at all."

"And we will exhaust our energy and our arrows in doing so," replied Esroh, a smaller, younger stallion. "If we wish to succeed, we must wait until we have word of them." Again the clearing erupted as some, feeling the urgency, agreed they should leave immediately, while others, understanding the importance, argued for patience.

"Enough," a deep voice whinnied quietly, and the clearing silenced to stare in awe across the stream. A group of eight had emerged and stood at the far bank. Equitaurs. James and company's breaths hitched at the sight of them; ancient, wise, majestic. Imagine, if you will, a normal centaur. Cover his bare skin with fur, and replace his head with that of a horse. Such is an equitaur. "I apologize for our lateness. Our camp was attacked by trolls, and we were needed to defend our people. It is good that you did not pass through, for such reinforcements would have frightened them into calling a manticore, and they would not have been defeated. But now we must be swift, for time has been lost. Have you yet decided your course?"

"We will go through the Great Pass and seek out the evil," Esroh announced. "We think that is where it lies."

"Why?" Amy cut in, drawing all eyes to rest on her.

"Who are you?" a minotaur demanded.

"She's not of any of our kingdoms," said a wood elf, surveying her. In response, she changed into a lynx. "Ah, a shape-changer."

"Why are you here? And who are you other strangers, unrecognized by those of your kin present?"

"We're travelers. We've come far for our purpose."

"Your purpose?"

"To find the Anger and bring peace. That is the mission we have been charged with."

"Charged with," demanded a faun. "By whom?"

"It is enough that this is their burden," said a mountain elf. "It does not matter who set it on their backs."

"That's right," said the lynx, turning back into an elf. "The cause of the imbalance we feel is the embodiment of Anger; the very emotion manifested into a physical body. It is somewhere nearby, and gaining power, which is why master En'iuqé is so eager to argue. So," she crossed her arms casually, "any uncontrollable fits of rage?" The creatures looked at one another in bemusement.

The equitaur leader contemplated her solemnly. "The mountains are angry," he told her.

James' brows drew together. "How can a mountain be angry?"

"They shake with rage, throwing rocks upon travelers. Storms ravage their sides. Fires burn in their forests. The ground trembles and quakes beneath our very hooves."

"Then it's not just in the Pass," mused the lass. "It's past the Pass; it's in the mountains. And it'll only get angrier, until all of Evenshade is consumed by it, or it collides with another realm."

"Then we must leave immediately if we are to stop it," announced the lead equitaur, and the others all agreed. It took only minutes for them to gather their things before they were splashing across the rill and hurrying through the trees; trees that seemed more ancient even than the wise equitaurs. Even as they passed, the trees lifted their branches and shook their leaves; the many willows parted their tendrils to let them through.

Amy turned into a paint horse and caught up with the lead equitaur. "Thanks for believing me. It wouldn't have been beneficial had the whole company thought us liars, and I know shapeshifters are not well-trusted."

"These rash and foolish creatures believe that a creature like you will change its loyalties as easily as change its face. But your race is more ancient than the trees of this forest; nay, you are elder even to the mountains." He smiled slightly. "Besides, it would have only wasted precious time to argue. What are you called?"

"Sometimes Amy, sometimes Todd," she answered in the way that gave shapeshifters their reputation. A genuine smile this time from the great, nearly black stallion. "And you?"

He looked at her with deep liquid eyes. "They call me Tek."

She stayed with Tek for a long time before falling back to run with James and company. "It's weird. I thought he would be right around here—no, back where the centaurs live. But there was no anger there, except faintly. I need to make sure we're going in the right direction. I was mistaken once. I could be mistaken again." She turned into a bluebird which kept pace with him, landing in his outstretched hand. From there she became a tiny, spotted, tawny-brown cat which, in spite of its lion-like build, could have fit snugly inside an American football. "I'll be back soon," she said, curling up against his chest as he galloped.

"You know, you really need to work on doing that without losing your awareness," he warned. "Vulnerability of that sort only invites trouble."

"Don't be silly, James," she murmured, seeing a shadow behind his eyes. "You of all people should know that a person's mind cannot be in two places at once without price." With that, she tucked her nose under her paw and let her mind float away, out of those woods, through the cherry forest, and into the Pass. She scaled the heights at lightning speeds, but Anger's presence did not grow any stronger. She began to despair. There was only a week left, and they had no idea if they had even come the right direction. Five days of traveling, wasted! She wanted to stop and wail. _We failed!_ she thought with a mental sob. _We failed, and now everything will end!_ She looked angrily at the highest, combined mountain, at the one which should not have had its peak. _This world isn't how it should be. That mountain isn't even right._ As if on cue, the mountain in question shook violently, sending down a great avalanche of stone and debris, as though trying to crush her. At first she was frozen with fear; but she was not actually there, and the rocks fell right through her. _Hey, watch it!_ she imagined baring her teeth in a snarl. Then she caught herself. _So it's you, then. Fancy that. Anger lies in the mountain!_ Released from her sudden grief, she excitedly shot back to the woods.

When she opened her eyes, everything was dark. Was it night already? She had been gone for less than an hour. She could no longer feel James galloping, either. In fact, she could not feel his arms. Had something happened? Panic flashed through her before, with a roll of her eyes, she figures out that he had put her in his saddle pocket. _Gee, thanks James_, she thought, climbing up to poke her head out. They had in fact slowed their pace to a walk, traveling now upon the wide, grassy Pass Road which had been cleared through the forest. Only a couple of miles ahead lay the great Cherrywood, which marked the entrance to the Pass. The sun was already on its way down.

Smiling to herself, she hopped out of the bag and turned into a doe, trotting right past her companions, none of whom recognized her, and laughed to herself, wondering how long it would take them to notice she was no longer with them.

By sunset they had entered a forest of cherry trees, a thin band a few miles thick that guarded the Pass. It was agreed by the leaders that they would spend the night there. As they were setting up camp, James set down his saddle pocket and gently reached inside to pull out the little golden spotted cat. Apprehension filled his face when he realized she was not there, and he cursed to himself. "Well it took you long enough!" a voice startled him, and he twisted around to see the doe. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever notice."

"You make it rather difficult to be recognised, pet."

"I'd think someone as observant as you would be able to spot a random deer that wasn't there before."

"Sorry. I thought you came with the moose: they joined up with us when we emerged from the forest." The doe, now a lynx, pricked her ears and looked around. "You didn't notice them? I'd think someone as observant as you would be able to spot a dozen mammoth deer with giant antlers," he mocked.

"No need to be snitty," she muttered indignantly, and there was a short, tense silence before the centaur raised an eyebrow.

"Snitty?" he smirked.

"Fine, I'm making up words again." They laughed.

"So what did you find out?"

"We are definitely headed in the right direction. Anger is inside a mountain."

James snorted. "A mountain is the final manifestation? How are we supposed to take a mountain with us?"

"If my assumptions are correct, we only need to take half of it."

"Then let us hope you are wrong about the mountain itself. What if there is a manifestation that resides inside the mountain?"

"Nothing can live in there; it's an active volcano."

"The angriest of all mountains," James understood with plummeting hopes. "Well this bleakens our venture."

She put a paw on his arm. "We'll think of something, James. We have to."

He smiled grimly. "Of course we do. The others have prepared a feast. Go and eat; I will join you when I have finished here. And Amy," he caught her as she made to leave, "don't tell anyone about the mountains. Not Theodore; not even Demon. I would not want to see their hopes dampened." She promised she wouldn't and left. If he were any less of a man—er, centaur—he would have deemed their mission hopeless. But as he was, and in such a world that opens the mind to everything and anything, there was only a renewed determination that had been forgotten for wonder. As bleak as it seemed, he could not allow himself to lose confidence—for Amy's sake, and for the sake of everything he knew and loved.

In the dark, fathomless oblivion of night, they made their beds and found sanctuary from troubling thoughts amidst soft cherry blossoms.

------------------------------------------------------ ----------------------------------------------------------

Theodore awoke amid a shower of blossoms and looked around to see the rest of the company sleeping obliviously under a growing layer of soft white. He looked into the forest, the pale dawn light streaming down through the falling blossoms, tinted a light pink. "Beautiful, isn't it?" commented the lass, now a dryad, coming to stand beside him.

He continued to stare into the gentle shadows. "It is unlike anything I have ever seen. The only beauty I have known for the last two decades of my life, aside from women, has been the sea. But this—this to me is like a place of dreams."

"It is a dream," she murmured. "My dream."

Theodore smiled at her before movement in the trees caught his eye and he pricked his ears. "What's that?"

The lass grinned. "The unicorns have come."

"Unicorns," he repeated dumbfoundedly as the beautiful creatures plodded through the cherry blossom rain (alas, plodding seems like such an ungraceful term when applied to such creatures!)

By the time the sun had fully risen, so had the rest of the company, and as they made ready to continue their journey the unicorns wove among them. "Theodore, are you just going to stare at them all morning?" chided James. "You have yet to polish and pack your weapons."

"Do you think they want something?"

"They wish to come with us," said another centaur nearby. "The unicorns that live in this wood guard the entrance to the Pass against danger. They have sensed a great disturbance in the mountains, and wish to right it."

"Think you can handle not staring obsessively for the duration?" teased James.

"Come now, James. If I remember correctly, you too were rooted to the spot at the sight of those mermaids." His friend only chortled and buckled his claymore and shield round his girth.

At last, when all were ready, they finally entered the Pass, a narrow, winding path through the mountains. The pace was not as vigorous as the day prior, but neither was it slow. They skirted boulders and fallen stones, leapt over downed trees and other obstacles. Every few miles the ground trembled beneath them.

When they were about halfway through the pass, they came upon a great semblance of creatures gathered in wait. There were the snow elves and winged cats and dwarves and pegasii and unipegs, not to mention firebirds and eagles. There was even a great, giant, metallic blue stallion, larger even than the large race of horses that were also present. White were his main and tail, as well as the long, flowing feathers that went as high as his knees. Such reinforcements strengthened their numbers, and it was with confidence that they spent the night. Even the trolls did not bother them.

The next morning dawned bright, and the grasses of the pass were painted a brilliant green. Their pace was quicker, for the tremors in the ground were growing worse, and the clouds gathered around the peaks were an ominous black, though not storm heads. In spite of the worsening situation, the company galloped on with no less confidence than the night before.

"We are getting closer," murmured James. "Even I can feel it now."

"Us too," said Demon and Theodore.

"Yeah," agreed the lass, now a unicorn, determination flashing in her eyes and along her horn. "Today's the day we get Jack back."

"I hope so; the days that remain to find him are few."

At last, midday, they came to the foot of the mountain. "Well what now?" asked Groves.

"We run," Amy said suddenly. "Do you smell that? Soot! It's going to erupt!" she cried, and trumpets of alarm echoed off the mountainsides as the very ground shook.

"Retreat!" cried the leaders of the races. "The mountain's wrath is upon us!" Chaos erupted as everyone turned to flee. Black dust had begun to rain from the sky, and roiling black smoke billowed through the clouds. A thunderous roar crashed off the sloping walls of the pass. Another, even louder. The ground quaked and moved, and it sounded like a great beating of drums.

Frantically, James, Theodore, Demon, and Amy fled. When they had gone a mile, they knew it was too late, and, though the distance they had put on was not nearly enough, they had to find shelter. They scrambled up the side of the pass, many yards up, into a small and convenient cave. As long as they were out of the valley; the Pass would act as a great channel for the tephra, sweeping up all in its path.

They peered out from their shelter at the distant but no less imposing volcano. "Is that mountain the Anger we've been looking for?" stammered Demon.

"No," replied the unicorn, again becoming human, "there's something inside, making it erupt. We have to go in after it."

"Can't we wait until after it's settled?"

"Theodore, we don't have that kind of time!"

"But what if we cannee capture whatever angry force is there? What if we have to fight it?" asked the leopard.

"Then we kill him," said the centaur in a low growl they had never heard before.

Amy looked up. "James?"

He rubbed at his eyes as though to clear his head. "I'm sorry—what was I saying?"

"About Jack."

"Er, yes—we may have to destroy the final manifestation if we cannot make it come back with us. Hear me out," he pleaded before they could argue. "Jack is alive. He may not be complete again, but he is alive. Either we sacrifice his wholeness or we sacrifice the Realms."

"He's right," said Teddy. "If it comes to a fight, we may have to kill him." And in silence they watched the shaking mountain.

Amy heard James retreat into the shadows of the cave and turned to see him facing away, clutching his head. She went to him. "James," she said, putting a hand on his arm, and his head jerked up, meeting her gaze with wild ice-green eyes. "Are you...?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and took a steadying breath, before grasping her shoulders. "No matter what happens, do not let me hurt anyone."

"I won't," she promised, and they returned to the mouth of the shallow cave.

There was a great shock that threw them off their feet. Then another, and another. They looked up to see the mountain bulging about halfway up, swelling larger and larger. Then, abruptly, there was silence. Absolute, complete silence. Not a movement, not a sound. Not even a breath of wind.

And then the mountain exploded.

A great force slammed into them, and had they not already been on the ground, they would have been thrown against it. Fire and rock shot into the sky and rained down on the forests and mountains. At first they watched the chaos as like those watching a passing storm. Then they heard the screams of those assaulted by the blast, cries of panic and agony nearly imperceptible in the din except to those who listened for it. Suddenly, the lass began to sob. "It's not working," she cried. "It's not working, it's not working, it's not working!"

Demon pressed himself against her, sensing her sudden distress. "What's not working?"

"She can't undo it," said James. "She can't un-make what is happening."

"Can't you change it so this happened aeons ago?"

"It's happening _now_, Theodore!" Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I've killed them, James," she whispered.

"Now you are a murderer just like me," came a startlingly uncharacteristic reply that earned him a shocked stare from his best friend.

As they cowered in their little cave, Amy suddenly wondered if this was how the people of Pompeii had felt on volcano day. This fear, this panic, the sounds of people dying, no longer a reason to flee for doom was inescapable. At last, strangely calm, she lifted her chin to glare at the mountain. "Enough," she said. "It's time to end this."

"How will we get past all of this?"

She stepped out of the cave and became the largest wingéd-cat she could think of. "We fly. Whatever we find we'll deal with when we get to it." At last, to be doing something useful. The faun and the dark leopard climbed onto her back, and, gripping the centaur in her claws, she gave a great heave of her wings and was aloft. As they sped through the air, weaving and banking to dodge flying rock and clouds of dust and soot, they could see some of the troops below them, racing valiantly toward the volcano. Many of them were absent—some had escaped, others were dead—but their numbers were still strong, and their courage lent confidence to Amy's wings.

She dodged a smoking boulder the size of a house, and when they next looked up they saw the lava beginning to spew from the top. The debris that flew out of it now glowed with heat, and the molten rock that flowed slowly down the sides of the volcano gave off the only light beneath the impermeable cloud of smoke and ash. It was both beautiful and terrible at the same time.

She circled the rim of the boiling crater a few times, to see if they could spot the creature as they passed. On her third turn, a great column of fire shot out at them, and she was barely able to dodge it, her wing tips singed. It had not been a coincidence; the flames had been aimed at them.

"Come out and fight, you coward!" cried James, fitting an arrow to his bow and taking aim.

There was a great, echoing roar that was not a product of the erupting volcano, and another blast of flame arced toward them. They heard a great beating of wings, and from the volcano emerged a gigantic crimson dragon, bigger even than the _Black Pearl_. Amy, who could fill the average room, was a mere kitten by comparison. James loosed his arrow, the only one not stunned at the sight of the monster before them, and it glanced harmlessly off armour-like scales that gleamed orange in the lava-light.

"You _had_ to make dragons big, didn't you!" cried Theodore.

"No, I didn't. Dragons here are normally little bigger than a horse. This one is something else. Something corrupted it into this thing. One emotion into another. Fear turned into Trust. What does Anger turn into?" The dragon and cat hovered in the air, surveying one another. "It must be Love. If we can appeal to Love, we may all get out of this alive."

"You're wrong," James retorted bluntly. "We already found Love."

"Trust me, James. I know what I'm doing."

"Like you knew what you were doing when Mandel was plotting to kill you?"

"That's enough, James," she replied calmly, circling back toward the dragon.

"Why hasn't it followed us?" wondered Theodore.

"It's too big to fly very far," Demon observed. "It'll fight us from the ground."

"Down," ordered the centaur, drawing his claymore.

"Not yet. Not until we try talking to it."

"Let me down!" He was getting worse.

She ignored him, gliding carefully back toward the volcano. "Jack!" she cried. Heedless, the dragon roared and breathes fire at them. "It's me—it's Amy. Remember me? You took me in when I was lost. James is here, too. You're friends now, remember? You're brothers."

"We are wasting time," James growled. "Let me fight."

"Jack, please!" The great reptile ceased to spit fire and stared at them expectantly. Aha, so Love was in there somewhere. She had gotten through to it. She glided closer, to land beside it on the volcano, and it appeared to be letting them get nearer. But things were not as they seemed. As soon as they were within range, it spat a great blast of flame. Only by allowing herself to fall from the sky did Amy manage to escape the worst of it, but her wings had caught fire and streamed smoke as they spiraled toward the ground.

"Pull up, pull up!" cried Theodore, hanging on for dear life. But she couldn't; not with her wings as the were. She went into a tailspin as they plummeted toward the ground, desperately trying to dodge falling tephra. At last, the air streaming past them extinguished the flames and she pulled up to glide along the mountainside, back toward the dragon.

"Dishonest coward!" James cried, struggling against her grip. "Let me rip him, let me tear him!" She was glad she could not see his face, for she knew it would have frightened her. But he would not be ignored. Shaking and squirming in frustration, he swung back his sword and sliced it through her wrist. Screaming more in shock than pain, she released him, reeling away. He dropped the last dozen or so feet and hit the ground running. The bird-cat landed not far off, favouring her injured paw.

"Are you all right?" demanded Demon as he and the faun scrambled off her back. She didn't answer; she only stared with tears in her eyes after the centaur as he galloped, roaring battle cries, toward the enormous reptile. Inspired by what they took to be courage, the rest of the company, creatures of all shapes and sizes, followed his example: the entire force now sprinted, shouting, toward the Anger of the volcano.

"Go with him. If you can't stop him, help him," she told them.

"Will you be okay?" he repeated.

"Save your worry for when we have time! Go after him!" With a grim expression, he and Theodore raced off into battle amid the glowing rivers of molten rock.

Amy stayed where she was, torn. Should she fight alongside them, or should she stay and do nothing, to think things out? Still in shock from the blow her nephew had dealt her, she resolved that she was not fit to fight, at least not yet. Her mind, however, had gone into overdrive. _Okay, self, figure this out,_ she thought with a deep breath. _Anger obviously didn't turn out to be Love. James may not have been all there, but he was right anyway; we already found the love manifestation. So what corrupted Rage into this thing? What was it before this?_

The first wave of warriors had reached the dragon. They attacked, battering it with puny arrows and other weapons—rather like bee stings: one alone will do little harm, but if there are enough, it could be fatal. The only question was if they had enough stingers. She watched as soldier after soldier was sent flying by a great talon or explosion. All around him creatures were falling back, but James dodged every blow aimed his way, somehow getting near enough to land blows of his own. The great beast bellowed in pain as what should have been an insignificant weapon broke through armour-like scales and bit into the soft flesh beneath. A noticeable bee sting. _His madness gives him strength,_ she observed absently. _Hang on a tick—it made him stronger—madness made him stronger! Anger wasn't corrupted; it's the corruptor!_ That was half the puzzle. But what had Anger been before it was Anger? She though back to that day on the _Oblivion_. What had made James so angry then? What had made him so angry at Mandel? _Mandel killed his mother._ But what about now? What had driven him so far this time? Jack tricking them with the fire had seemed to set him off—but why? _He thought Jack had hurt me,_ she realized as she watched the battle. The two had to be connected. Whatever had turned to anger for James must be the same for Jack.

The volcano gave a great quake and there was a second, smaller eruption that sent magma shooting into the air. The bird-cat opened her wings and took to the sky. It was time to fight. Twisting and turning to avoid lava and debris, she dove toward the dragon, plucking at its scales with her claws as she passed. If she couldn't working things out now, then she could at least distract Rage from harming anyone else while she was thinking. She swooped back and forth, more in a playful manner than a hurtful one, but a distraction nonetheless. Irritated, the dragon blew a flame at her, simultaneously thrashing its tail and taking out many, including Theodore. She spiraled out of range, and when next she righted herself, she caught sight of James. He was no longer in the fray, but stood a short distance off, holding his head and looking confused. He looked back at the great creature, seeing the blood on his sword and the wounds he had inflicted. Guilt and a great sadness filled his face. Rather than going back into battle, he galloped along the mountainside, leaping and climbing over molten rock and tephra to the aid of his best friend; Theodore's left leg had been broken with a sweep of the dragon's tail. He looked up at the centaur with a pinched smile, grateful to see his friend sane again. Demon was still fiercely fighting, dragging away the injured whenever he had the chance.

_Guilt_, realised the lass. _Sadness. Jack should have been sad that he had no memory before he ever got angry about it. But he was never sad. He never grieved. Grief! Grief is what became Anger. And judging from how much Anger there is, I'd say he's had a lot to grieve about. Anger doesn't become Love; Grief becomes Anger._ And Anger was only getting angrier.

"Enough of this," she growled aloud, and dove straight toward the dragon. It looked at her, ignorant of its other attackers, and she could see the fires of rage burning in its eyes. With a tremendous roar, it parted its jaws and ejected an enormous blast of flame that lit the Pass as bright as day beneath the cloud of ash. She did not alter course to avoid it. With a thundering roar of her own that reverberated off the mountainsides, she flew straight into it. A hush fell, but for the thunder of the volcano—and even that seemed distant and insignificant—as everyone halted in their battle to look up in awe at the great cloud of fire, hoping, praying...

A flash of white light, and there she was, a girl once more. Yet somehow she was not the same. She lifted a slender, delicate hand, and in response the volcano immediately stilled. Demon and James, carrying Theodore in his arms, pushed their way to the front of the crowd as she floated down to stand before the dragon, and saw that she was transformed. She seemed taller, towering over even the elves, yet at the same time she seemed as small and humble as ever. Her clothes were ancient, beautifully simple golden robes with a nostalgic Greek-ness to them, and her feet and arms were bare. James thought he had never seen anyone more wise; Theodore had never seen anyone more powerful; nor Demon anyone more beautiful. The dragon stared at her, its head low to the ground as it examined her, unsure whether to attack her or not.

She looked on it with a gentle expression, opened her mouth, and sang. It was a sad, wordless, haunting melody that echoed in the distance. Immediately the air changed: the sun broke through the cloud of ash, and as the rays rained down on that mountaintop, it seemed like they were no longer in Evenshade. Her voice rang to the heavens, yet at the same time was soft and gentle. All the anger went out of the dragon, and it bowed its head as she placed her hand on its nose, great crystalline tears falling from its eyes. "I'm here, Jack," she whispered, fighting tears of her own. "We came to find you. We came to bring you home." She put both hands on the sides of its nose, the best she could come to cupping its face, and with a great, wearily heartbroken sigh it began to shrink. Smaller and smaller it became, losing its formidable dragon shape until it was a little scaled creature with a long prehensile tail, that curled into a defensive ball in her arms.

"What is that?" Theodore asked, easing himself back to the ground.

"This is a pangolin," she replied, and her voice at once sounded normal. "It's a kind of anteater that lives in the trees. It's just like an armadillo with its armour scales, and it curls into a ball when it feels threatened. Grief hides its face from the bad things in life."

"Grief," repeated Demon. "I never thought of Jack as one dealing with grief."

"Everyone has grief," murmured James. "It is just a matter of hiding it."

"Or dealing with it. Theodore, what has happened to your leg?"

"Broken," he said easily. "It's not the first time, and it probably won't be the last."

"No, but it shall be the most memorable and the least significant," she replied, running her free hand along his leg. There was a crackling sound, and after a moment of pain he was healed.

In amazement, he flexed it and put his weight on it. "Good as new!"

In awe and shock, the rest of the creatures stared at the being cradling in her arms what had once been a great monster, standing atop a serene mountain that only moments ago had been raining fire and ash upon them. In a great wave, like a dilating ripple, they sank to their knees in a bow. "Rise, all of you," said the lass. "I am not one worth bowing to. Save your praises and awe for some one not me."

"They think you are a goddess."

"But I'm not."

"If you created them, then what are you?" quipped Demon.

"A conundrum as always," she answered, and they were unsure whether she was describing the question or answering it. "Come on, boys, let's go home." She held out her hand, palm down, and each in turn placed theirs atop. In a great whirlwind of cerulean, they were gone.

They had captured the seventh and final manifestation. The Realms were safe.

As for Jack, Fate seemed to have its own plans.

* * *

There, that took long enough to type up. -grumble- thirteen pages -grumble-

I know chapters have been long lately, but they'll be shorter after this, I hope. As it is, I am so beeping busy that it is inevitable that I take a break from writing until I actually have time. Thank you for your patience, and I hope those few of you still reading will still be here after all that time.

Please review. It's nice. :)


	40. For Another Time

This story is being deleted.

Several reasons, including lack of inspiration and an overall dissatisfaction with said story.

Will be re-posted later in a different format.

Plot receiving overhaul.

Thank you for your patience and support.


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